Quiet Evolution
by mrpoohnminnie
Summary: Post S4, mild S5 speculation. Beginning with a garden party, Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes reflect on life and a job well done with the promise of more on the horizon. Together and apart, they learn how to navigate their feelings and places in the world as Downton ushers in a new era. This is the author's first Downton fic.
1. The Garden Party

A timing note: set just after S4 and the end of the Season. Later chapters include some S5 speculation stemming from some very vague teasers/trailers from ITV.

Also, please refer to my blanket legal disclaimer on my profile page. Thank you.

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Guests were wandering about the lawn, glasses in hand and bellies full with Mrs. Patmore's and Daisy's finest garden party fare. The Yorkshire air was full of laughter, of ebullient voices as the Downton Abbey staff diligently tended to it all. Empty glasses were refreshed as footmen weaved about small congregations of Grantham-Crawley family and friends. Maids handling trays were constantly coming and going from the servant's entrance to the marquees dotting the lawn.

In the periphery, under a tree planted well before his arrival at Downton, Charles Carson stood with his arms and hands unconsciously stretching and relaxing by his sides, taking it all in. Standing resolutely in the shade, he exuded pride out of every pore. Pride for a job well done. Pride for a woman who conjured up and managed a marvelous party with their beloved abbey serving as an unparalleled backdrop.

It was in these moments, full of fluid movements by a synchronized staff, that he felt in his element. All of it flowed from a domestic show performed with precision and diligence by each player that they both had trained. All of it flowed from trust and confidence. In Him and because of Her.

He was able to acknowledge for himself how she buoyed his work and his life. He was content the two spheres were separate, after letting go some of the painful memories from the past. He knew she would always be a part of and improve both. This party was one more piece of evidence confirming it. The thought was enough to make him stand even taller as he placed his hands behind his back and a contented sigh billowed out.

"You have every right to feel proud, Mr. Carson."

Without looking upon the housekeeper that managed to sneak up on him, he returned the smile he could hear in her voice. It warmed him – relaxing and enlivening simultaneously.

"As do you, Mrs. Hughes. It's been a rousing success, although I might have ordered a few extra bottles of champagne."

With a sidelong glance, Mrs. Hughes inquired, "Have you, now?" If this had been a previous garden party, she would have chalked his misstep to caution. Running out of libations would never do for Charles Carson.

But, after a most unusual year and Season, Mrs. Hughes knew Charles Carson had more up his sleeve. Before, there was always something he was thinking, but not sharing. But now, more was making its way through the wall that divided Charles Carson, man, from the world. Like now. The subtle twitch of his right cheek as she asked him confirmed it.

"Yes, I'm afraid it's not of the quality his lordship usually favors for cocktails or desserts. I'm not sure when, if ever, it will be consumed," he explained.

"And do you think it will go to the heads of our staff if we provide a wee bit to them after dinner?"

"I don't think it will be too much, provided Mr. Barrow and Mr. Bates keeps them in line."

Her body had turned to face him now, compelling him to look over, to show his hand. "And why are they to keep everyone in line?"

His hands, now unfolded, were moving again by his side. Perceptibly. His head rotated to her, but his eyes stayed fixed on the horizon. "I thought we could forego our usual sherry and enjoy a glass to ourselves in your sitting room. That is, unless you'd rather have an early night."

She turned to face the party and smiled. "I think I can make an exception just this once, Mr. Carson. Champagne in my sitting room, it is, then."

He looked down as he smiled – bashful, but pleased. "Until then."

Drawing his head up, his countenance changed as he surveyed the party once more. His back stiffened as he cleared his throat. The wall closed on Charles Carson. The butler façade returned.

"The party looks to be winding down. Better get a move on. Excuse me, Mrs. Hughes." Abruptly, off the butler went, moving about the lawn to ensure that each guest was tended to on their way home.

Discombobulated by his offer and his subsequent behavior, Mrs. Hughes drew a steadying breath as she watched him move gracefully amongst empty chairs towards the waiting cars. He was bringing order to the party, to his thoughts. But his hands, still grasping and opening by his sides, spoke volumes to her. He left something unexpressed.

As she realized this, he stopped and turned his heel. Mr. Carson glanced back at her, his eyes finally meeting hers. He gave her a small smile filled with promise. When she returned it, he quickly carried on. An endearing half smile remained as his arms swung purposely, his long strides moving him elegantly onwards to the queue of motors. Perhaps the wall wasn't completely closed when he was 'on duty,' after all.

The evidence of his quiet evolution was enough to quit her woolgathering. Her shoulders squared, Mrs. Hughes strode into the closest marquee to see to her girls. She best get a move on. A great deal of work stood between her and a well-deserved glass of champagne on their own.

Perhaps, behind the closed door of her sitting room, his wall would open further, stay open longer. They were getting on, after all.

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Dear readers: this is my first fic for any fandom in quite a long time. This is dedicated to all the Chelsie writers who inspired me to submit my own prose after copiously reading theirs. Thank you for reading, and for any comments you might have.


	2. A Nightcap, Pt 1

Dear Readers, thank you for sticking around for round 2. Since it's been more than a week between updates, you may want to glance over chapter 1 to remind yourself of where we are, or you can just go with this recap:

During a garden party held in late summer, Mr. Carson dares to change things up by asking Mrs. Hughes if she would like to share a glass of champagne for their ritual nightcap. The following two chapters (the next one will be posted momentarily) explore this new wrinkle in their nightcap ritual and the revelations it brings.

Following a long drought of no fanfic writing whatsoever, any reviews/PM's are appreciated as I embark on this new journey. Chelsie fans (fervent or casual) are simply the best. I appreciate each and every one of you readers/reviewers/writers. You truly inspire.

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Elsie Hughes was in her own world, and Charles Carson delighted in it. Rearranging her furniture to move her small occasional table closer to her fireplace, he watched from the open door as the reflection of the flames danced across her distinctive cheekbones. They were one of the first things he noticed about her, all those years ago. But, it was rare to be able to study them so intently. Charles Carson indulged himself in this quiet hour, assured by the presumption that the others had already gone to bed.

The combination of a long day and the champagne treat shared over the servant's dinner effectively subdued their normally boisterous staff. Mrs. Hughes had taken Mr. Carson aside before he attended to upstairs affairs, suggesting they dole out the champagne earlier given the staff's apparent exhausted state. He agreed, but for the separate, secret reason that their champagne evening was less likely to be disturbed by any high spirits staying up past their bedtime. Even more so, he was grateful for Mrs. Hughes' quick thinking when Thomas questioned why the butler and housekeeper failed to partake in the bubbly at dinner.

_The sweet-sounding burr of her attack at the dinner table was enough to stop the scheming underbutler in his tracks, at least for the moment: "Mr. Carson and I have wine at dinner every night, and tonight is no different on that score. Besides, it is not every day that the rest of the staff may also enjoy something from his lordship's cellars, at least through hard work alone." _

_At that point, she reached for her glass of wine and closed, "I want to make sure there is enough to go around." Even without looking at Thomas, she could tell her veiled remark about stealing from the cellars had hit its target. As the bouquet of wine filled her palette, she savored her small victory in the long war Thomas Barrow fought against all takers. _

_When Mrs. Hughes finally dared to glance at Mr. Carson, she could see him breathe out slowly and cocked his head slightly, thanking and questioning her silently for her smooth handling of Thomas. Mrs. Hughes acknowledged and failed to answer him with a raised left eyebrow before speaking to Anna about one of Lady Mary's dresses. He was grateful for their ability to communicate without a word passed between them. It epitomized their working relationship and whatever they could characterize as their nights shared together over a nightcap._

Finished with tending to her table, Elsie Hughes raised her eyebrows in surprise as she turned to find Mr. Carson standing silently in her doorway. Wondering how long he'd watched her, she graced him with a gentle smile. "So they've all gone up?"

"Family and staff, it appears so," he answered before placing the champagne on the side table.

"Well, it's no small wonder. This day has lasted an age," Mrs. Hughes surmised before rotating her desk chair towards the fire. Already the cozier of their two offices, he was surprised to find her making an even more welcoming haven for them near the fireplace. But, his concern for her wellbeing, so palpable since her brush with cancer, prevented him from letting the evening progress automatically.

With a furrowed brow, Mr. Carson gently asked with hesitation, "Would you rather retire for the evening? It's been an even longer day for you."

"Are you implying that I'm getting on?" Her piercing stare did nothing to belie the playful lilt to her voice. That Mr. Carson raised one shoulder in uncomfortable receipt of her volleyed salvo made her inwardly grin.

Covering for his discomfort despite her jesting, he answered: "No, although as you so memorably put it, we're both getting on," he leveled with an arched brow and a tilt to his head.

Mrs. Hughes impulsively chewed her lip, biting down on the toothy grin that fought to break out. She delighted in his recollection of an unexpectedly momentous day for them. It wasn't the first time he'd shared a remembrance of their simple day by the sea, but it warmed her all the same. "As we and this night are all getting on, I say you pop open that bottle while I grab a few chocolate biscuits."

"It's a deal," Mr. Carson agreed with a slight bow of his head.

As she moved for the biscuits laid out on a plate from her personal china collection, he deftly began the process of uncorking the champagne. She tried not to stare, as she had observed him pour a glass of wine or sherry countless times before. Elsie Hughes, however, was always struck by his gracefulness. She marveled in the way he controlled his large limb with the twist of his wrist, gently wringing the vessel to prevent any errant bubbly from escaping. No longer deliberate, it was accomplished with inherent, practiced ease.

As he handed her a champagne flute, she looked at him expectantly. Flummoxed, he questioned her with a single eyebrow raised towards his hairline.

"A toast," she answered and questioned in the same instant.

"We usually don't," Mr. Carson responded, nonplussed by her observation and askance.

Undeterred, she tucked her chin and looked at him with wide eyes. "As it is the rare occasion of us sharing a glass of champagne, perhaps we should have an actual toast to mark the occasion?"

Normally, they would salute each other without skipping a beat as they recounted the various events of the day. The trials, triumphs, and tedious details of upstairs and downstairs would unite then. Problems were sorted, tallied, and considered on their mental rotas, so similar to their physical lists for linens, cellars, staff, and guests. But this evening was separate from other nightcaps. The others were for winding down. Despite their fatigue, a different purpose tinged this evening. It was palpable. That realization alone was enough for Charles Carson to nod his head in agreement.

Raising his glass and eyebrows, Charles Carson toasted: "to 'seeing stars.'" With shared smiles, they clinked their glasses together before taking measured sips of their sprightly nightcap.

"Do you think a monk would have said that?"

"Whether Dom Pérignon did or didn't, it certainly can happen on occasion, "Mr. Carson replied. "Thomas might have been seeing stars tonight. You certainly put him in his place at dinner. What brought that on?"

"Well, he did have it coming, didn't he? And, I think you'd agree his treatment of Mr. Branson of late is far from acceptable."

"I do, although I'm not sure if I could have delivered the same blow without giving up the game in front of the entire staff," Mr. Carson conceded in a voice low and dripping with spirited sarcasm. Her spirit in handling Thomas was welcomed, but it did provide the sour reminder that he didn't always have control over his cellar, let alone command the full loyalty of his staff.

"So it might have been a bit flippant," she conceded only halfheartedly.

"Perhaps, but so as he with Mr. Branson," he was quick to acknowledge. "In any case, it doesn't hurt to remind him that I'm not the only force to be reckoned with downstairs."

"Such… compliments, Mr. Carson," she uttered in a half-reproachful voice. Motioning with her champagne flute, she joked, "Gracious, what is in this champagne?"

He presumed an air of obtuseness, but as he could trace the various flavors in wine, she could identify the playful tone in his deep voice. "It must be the notes of sweetness. His lordship thought it was too cloying, but Lady Rose favored it in London. She insisted his lordship purchase an extra case. I can't say I am always partial to such a sweet champagne, myself, but this isn't too overbearing."

"And you, Mr. Carson? What have you against things being sweet?"

His mouth opened, ready to protest. But he could see her eyes dancing with more than the champagne. His love of a good biscuit well-established, he knew her question had nothing to do with cuisine and fine wine. Since his revelation about Alice Neal, Elsie Hughes had quietly made it easier for him to be more open and playful. She didn't push, nor did she discourage any chance for him to pry open his own walls that separated the butler from the man. While Mr. Carson may have had the patience of Job tending to the family upstairs, Elsie Hughes certainly outlasted all others when it came to the feelings of Charles Carson. Her patience, this time, was rewarded.

"Nothing at all, Mrs. Hughes." He raised his glass slightly with a thoughtful pout, peering at the bubbles moving upwards in exultant abandon. "But, wines and champagnes are like human beings, are they not?" Pondering the crystal with a slight tilt to his head, he continued. "I'd rather have something able-bodied and self-assured with a hint of sweetness that surprises you in the end. But for sweetness to dominate every moment? That is too cloying for me."

"Why is that, Mr. Carson? I would think us all desiring and deserving of sweet moments wherever we can find them."

"Of course, and I can think of a few I've had just now," he remarked with visions of sand and surf playing in his mind. Looking down at his champagne flute, he continued. "But it's not always authentic, is it? Sweetness can be borne from innocence, or a rosy image that leaves out what really was. The former is fleeting, the latter is not genuine. But sweetness that is present despite the setbacks, scares, and heartaches encountered throughout life – that is genuine." Charles Carson looked at her squarely, emboldened by the champagne. "Those are the kind of sweet moments I would desire more of, if I am to be so lucky in the future."

The words were out of his mouth before he could think to halt his comparison. Perhaps there was something more to this champagne.

Stunned to silence, Elsie Hughes had watched every movement of his face as he expressed his deeply personal thoughts. Now, with his chocolate eyes looking straight back at her, she knew she must be careful. Her own eyes could pierce a lesser man, but she didn't want to invite the possibility of him clamming up. Instead, she bit her lip as she cocked her head to the side before turning her gaze back to the fire.

Before either could say anything, do anything that would alter the atmosphere that was brewing, there was a knock on the door.

To her disbelief, Charles Carson gave a dramatic roll of the eyes before rising to attend to the interloper. Of course it was Molesley, the man who held his post despite Mr. Carson's misgivings and due solely to the persistent campaign waged by Mrs. Hughes. Despite grudgingly appreciating Molesley's capabilities, his timing was never his strongest trait. Mr. Carson gave a frightful, expectant glare to the footman.

"It's the silver trays from this afternoon and this evening, Mr. Carson. Won't take but a moment to put them in the silver pantry," he said with all the faithful diligence Mrs. Hughes had banked on Molesley possessing despite his initial disappointment over the effective demotion. Mr. Carson was clearly torn. Handing the key to Molesley, the footman bounded off to the butler's pantry, leaving Mr. Carson to glance back at Mrs. Hughes.

"Go," she voiced with no hesitation, no agitation. "I'll be here." Relieved by her patience, he stalked to his pantry to attend to Molesley's hopefully quick work.

Elsie Hughes rose then, her feet needing to move, although not as furiously as her mind, reeling from his quiet revelation. Granted, this was becoming a feature of late, an answer to all her prayers for his earnestness. His shared thoughts tonight, however, were far more candid than ever before. By now, he usually remembered his façade, causing Charles Carson, the man, to retreat behind the wall like a vampire disappearing at the break of daylight. This evening, however, more was emerging that could not be retrieved for safe-keeping on the other side of the wall. Not memories of the past alone, but thoughts of a future, of another way dreamed in earnest.

She was always the braver-sounding one when it came to rolling with the punches thrown by ever-progressing, unforgiving life. But tucked away with him, alone with the wall wide open, she wondered how brave Charles Carson was becoming.

* * *

To be continued.

P.S. As noted above the fold, please read on – the next chapter awaits! I just couldn't justify clustering some 3600-odd words together in a single chapter Thank you for reading. Reviews are welcomed and highly valued, much like heroic head house/lady's maids.

P.P.S. About Carson's toast to "seeing stars." It is rumored that monk Dom Pierre Pérignon, upon initially perfecting a form of producing champagne, uttered he "saw stars" (or "come quickly, I am seeing stars!") following his first taste. Whether either phrase was uttered or not, the idea is still lovely. An homage had to be included.


	3. A Nightcap, Pt 2

The nightcap continues.

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Before Elsie Hughes could ponder the emerging braveness of Charles Carson, she heard him returning to her sitting room, aided by the sound of Molesley heading up the staircase. Without a second thought, she refilled both of their glasses with champagne. Devoid of liquid fortification, she feared any progress they made tonight might be lost on the sobering effect of someone interrupting their quiet evening with his walls open, defenses down.

The door secured again, they stood closely (but not too closely) in front of the fireplace. Rooted a half step behind her, once more Charles Carson dared to study Elsie Hughes as she gazed intently at the hearth. This time, it was the way the flames caught her auburn locks, highlighting her in a glow that enraptured him. In the back of his mind, he tucked this memory away next to countless others that were equally perfect in their tranquil beauty.

It was in these companionable silences blanketed by a beautiful night, next to a beautiful woman in heart and body (he could admit that readily, at least in his mind), that he felt at peace. He had tucked away each memory of perfection – crystallized in his mind. Since her brush with illness, Charles would lay back in the dead of night, arms behind his head, and revisit their moments over and over in an earnest bid to cherish what could have been lost to cancer.

But since their time at the beach, the moments were no longer fixed. They began to coalesce into a moving picture with no beginning and no end. Every day brought a new scene, a new thickening of their plot. All they had together – yesterday, today, and tomorrow – was entropy: an inevitable set of disordered actions moving inexorably forward towards a life without work – only warmth and light.

Warmth and light, indeed. If ever was a change Charles Carson could embrace, it was a future embodied by her and with her alone.

Most wouldn't be able to discern the changes occurring under the surface of the staid, solid demeanor of Carson, Butler of Downton Abbey. But Elsie Hughes had seen more of the man behind the wall, had scaled the fortress more times than even she could realize. Now, he left the wall open longer during their shared evenings. The war, her cancer scare, young lives snuffed out in a cruel reminder of mortality – all of those changes he staggered to eventually accept through the grace and strength of her steadying hand.

But the culmination of their own version of entropy, for which he reserved his most fervent hope, brought anticipation and nerves that surpassed any stage fright he experienced during his time on the boards. There, one false step would lead to laughter at him, to whistles and emptying chairs. Here, much more was at stake.

Cursed by an inherently worrying mind, he prayed anything he did to move within this state of flux would not reverse their entropy. His greatest wish was the culmination of their full but separate lives into something new – something fused together. His most feared outcome was a lifetime with the knowledge of what she meant to him, but forever apart in frigid isolation. In short, he was terrified by inaction. But, even more so, he was terrified by fruitless action.

By the time he finished mulling over the prospect of heat and warmth in the days ahead, Elsie Hughes caught his eye in the mirror above her fireplace. No longer transfixed by the hearth before them she gazed at him with caution and curiosity. "I would offer a penny for your thoughts, but I fear they look like they're worth a few pounds," she goaded to lift the atmosphere threatening to ruin their quiet evening. Her teasing worked as she spied his right cheek tugging his lip upwards. Charles Carson didn't return her gaze, however. Instead, he peered back down at his glass, already half empty from earlier sips.

"I may live to regret saying this, but – you were right," he asserted with a comically glum look.

"That's hardly shocking, now, Mr. Carson," she joked. "But about what am I right, this time?"

"Mr. Molesley." Ignoring the crowing look she now sported, he continued. "He's been a welcome addition as footman. If Thomas wasn't here by the grace of his Lordship and a reformed angel of some kind, I would consider Molesley as underbutler. He proved himself in London, and his helpfulness tonight reminded me to let you know that you have triumphed yet again," he concluded with a jaunty salute with his champagne flute.

Speechless, but filled with glee, Mrs. Hughes gave him a knowing look in the mirror. Her glance rivaled all their playful, wordless exchanges at countless meals in the servant's hall. Charles Carson couldn't help but break out in laughter. It was a lovely sound to Elsie Hughes – something to which she alone was privy except for the rarest of occasions. His laughter was infectious and she joined him immediately.

In his mirth, the graceful fingers of his right hand reached for her right shoulder – unbidden in their perfect moment, undeterred by any sense of propriety. When he reached her soft, curved joint, he barely brushed her shoulder before gently caressing and then squeezing her upper arm. If Elsie Hughes had not been looking in the mirror, spying his long fingers set off against the darkness of her dress, she might have thought a ghost of a former housekeeper had drifted by her.

But his hand was there, warming her more than the fire before them. Mr. Carson finally caught himself in the mirror, looking back at a moment more real than the motion picture projector in his mind could ever conjure on its own. This was no dream or fantasy.

Without even trying, Charles Carson accelerated the speed of their entropy. For the briefest of moments, it culminated in warm, encased flesh. It was almost overwhelming in its reality.

Mrs. Hughes immediately spotted his panic – the clenching of his jaw readily apparent. But she couldn't let this lovely day end in fear or embarrassment. Her left hand crossed her body to softly tread on his fingers resting on her shoulder. Steadying him once again with her own earnest sleight of hand, he was further rewarded with the same smile that once accompanied the revelation she would miss him upon his departure to become butler at Haxby.

Charles Carson's heart clenched at the bittersweet collision of past and present. His lopsided smile, accompanying a final squeeze to her shoulder before releasing it, was enough to wordlessly communicate that tomorrow wouldn't be filled with a butler barking orders to hide behind his embarrassment. The wall was still open for now. He had yet to summon the stonemasons in his mind to refortify it.

Finally, Elsie Hughes found the composure to speak once more. "Well about Mr. Molesley – it did take you long enough…"

"But I got there in the end, didn't I?" Charles Carson concluded the phrase with his eyes boring into hers, letting her know Mr. Molesley wasn't all to which he was becoming accustomed. "Since you're beginning to repeat yourself, I suggest we turn in."

"Perhaps we should," Mrs. Hughes sighed in agreement as she managed the nearly depleted flames in her fireplace. Mr. Carson dispensed with their bubbly and dessert in short order before double-checking his pantry was secure for the night. She joined him at the foot of the stairs. But before she could begin her climb, one step ahead of him (as usual), he spoke.

"I know I never say it in so many words," he began with a furrowed brow and slight bow of his head. Looking at her with a quiet urgency, he continued, "but you must know how much I value what we share together."

Her mouth opened immediately, but not a sound was forthcoming. Elsie Hughes stared with wide eyes, surprised by his candor before recovering. "You may not say it in so many words, Mr. Carson, but I do know you care." Emboldened by his earnest, unadorned truthfulness, she continued. "And it doesn't cost me anything to say you're the dearest friend I've ever had."

She might have thought it impossible, but in the sliver of light illuminating his side of the stairs, Mr. Carson gave her the most tender smile she had ever seen. His soulful eyes saying so much, she could hardly quantify all the meanings they consciously and subconsciously conveyed.

He could feel their entropy accelerating yet again – gently, but surely. He tried to hold her gaze, but Charles Carson soon lost the ability to stare into her eyes. Even in the shadows that silhouetted her face, the deep blue he would find would be too much for him to encounter in this delicate moment.

The atmosphere sufficiently charged, they quietly trudged up the main servant's staircase before having to part at the entrance to the women's quarters. Inserting a key from the set swinging at her waist, Elsie Hughes turned the key to unlock the door before halting and pivoting towards her dearest friend.

Charles Carson had reached out to her automatically in her sitting room. But Elsie Hughes was nothing if not quietly deliberate as she raised her delicate right hand to deftly caress the top of his left shoulder, slipping it over the joint and squeezing his still toned upper arm. Charles Carson was rooted in his spot. Holding his breath, he was afraid to move towards her, but more afraid to look away this time. Still, her hand lingered, caressing him for another moment before Elsie Hughes whispered, "goodnight."

At last, he moved, bowing his head slightly as he turned away from her, from yet another perfect moment. It was then that he whispered, low but unmistakable.

"Goodnight, my dearest friend."

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To be continued. Thank you for reading. Reviews are welcomed and highly valued.

P.S. re: Inspirations. The latest picture of Jim Carter/Phyllis Logan inspired the hand on her shoulder moment. Go tumblr and search the #chelsie tag. You're bound to find it! Additionally, I had to include the word "flux," because… well, if you haven't listened to the Season 5 teaser trailer, go now! Go to youtube and search for "Downton Abbey - ITV - Series 5 Teaser".

P.P.S. The Entropy analogy. It's a difficult line I tread, I realize. But the term can mean several things, from thermodynamics, to the collapse of societal order. Only in the rigid order that keeps him next to but separate from Mrs. Hughes do I see the concept of entropy being welcoming to Mr. Carson in a societal sense. Similarly, that the increase of entropy signifies (as I understand it) the _lack_ of available energy for work gels with Mr. Carson dreaming of a future life spent in blissful retirement with Mrs. Hughes. If anyone else is more well-versed than I am on thermodynamics (which, let's be honest, most anyone could be), PM me to correct my assumptions! Thanks again!


	4. A token

All: thank you so much for your readership and reviews! Your support has spurred me to soldier on as we head into the last few months of pre-Series 5 angst, agony, and anticipation. Every bit of Chelsie love on FF, Tumblr, and elsewhere certainly helps. So, enjoy!

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Charles Carson spent his nights caught in a dichotomy. There were instances of blissful slumber, brought on by the satisfaction that Elsie Hughes could understand and echo his thoughts of cherishing one another. Other evenings, he couldn't help but replay memories of their shared past and ponder what the future would bring. Hopes and dreams beget questions of logistics and fears of complications. What made him so competent as a butler made him so hesitant as a man trying to forge a new path.

Charles Carson was beginning to realize, after enough sleepless nights of worrying how to conceive of and conjure up a life for them to share, that he couldn't do this on his own. There was no clockwork by which to time this set of events. He knew not all the moving pieces involved, nor could he dare to make decisions affecting her without her counsel, much like their professional lives.

It was the blessed curse of finding one's dearest friend and true love in one person: not being able to discuss the secret affairs of the heart because it could result in losing one's closest confidant. But, while he wasn't quite ready to initiate an extended conversation in person, he could let her know, without so many words, that their revelation of friendship was acknowledged throughout his days through small but unmistakable actions.

* * *

A few days later.

Near the tail end of an unusually silent breakfast, Mrs. Hughes couldn't help but observe Mr. Carson standing at the slanted table under the many house bells attached to the upstairs rooms. His weight kept shifting from foot to foot, as if engaged in a bout of fisticuffs with his ledgers. His agitation was one thing, but his smile, small but still discernible, was another. Over breakfast, he had barely engaged in pleasantries, despite not attempting to be intentionally rude. After all, Mr. Carson largely preferred solitude over boisterousness at the breakfast table. Still, something was decidedly off, but Mrs. Hughes knew that all would be revealed in time – by his choosing, or hers.

Munching on the last bit of toast on her plate, Mrs. Hughes thought back to the past few days. Since Mr. Carson spent a half-day in Ripon, his behavior was slightly off-kilter. Aloofness dominated their nightcaps, as well as discussion of more domestic concerns. While business was always discussed between them, their evenings had increasingly become a sacred space for shared thoughts that had no immediate, tangible connections to the everyday affairs of running a house. Evenings together were now more reserved for themselves than the house and family they served.

Her plate clear but for a few crumbs, Mrs. Hughes was now bereft of excuses to linger at the table. Rising, she went upstairs to ensure her maids completed their duties with efficiency and completeness. Not finding anything amiss in the downstairs rooms unoccupied by the family, she finally returned to her sitting room to tend to her linen rotas. The weekly changing of the family's beds was forthcoming, and some visitors were expected within the week. Sighing as she entered sitting room, Elsie Hughes moved for her desk but was sidetracked upon eying a wooden box, quite out of place, on her side table.

Longer than it was wide, the walnut box was simple, with few adornments. It did appear, however, to be made with restrained care. It looked like a glove box from older days, but slightly taller than usual. Her curiosity was more than piqued. Elsie Hughes gently lifted the hinged top, revealing an interior of velvet and silk… and a folded note addressed to "EH." Her heart racing slightly at the sight of the distinctive handwriting, she set the note aside momentarily. Gingerly holding the box, Elsie Hughes fingered the Wedgwood blue velvet lining its bottom. But it was the silken floral pattern of foxgloves lining the sides and the underside of the lid that caught her attention. Immediately, she thought of rare moments of solitude she had as a girl growing up on a farm. That one would happen onto Scottish woods and meadows filled with foxgloves this time of the year, unperturbed by the toil of tilling soil, always brought her solace.

Returning to the note with familiar handwriting, she was unable to set the note aside until being secured away in her bedroom later that night. Instead, she unfolded the letter with some anticipation. Already secure in the knowledge Charles Carson had successfully plotted to acquire and place the token in her office, she had to think with guarded optimism. Too many years of brushes of fingers with each shared sherry, bristled remarks about being "too sentimental," were enough to keep Elsie Hughes realistic. Spying the salutation addressed to Charles Carson's "cherished confidant," however, was enough to cause Elsie Hughes to smile brilliantly.

So caught up in the zealous perusal of her surprise, Elsie Hughes missed the note's author inconspicuously peering into her sitting room. With bated breath, he fretted over her reception to his impulsive act. The action upon impulse, without doubt, would be welcomed by the fiery housekeeper. But, until seeing her smile, it had remained to be seen whether she approved of the acquired token and thoughtful note. Spying her smile through the crack in her door, he thought, "yes, she definitely approves." Content with his victory, he observed her unabated with a twinkle in his eye. But, before he could retreat back to this pantry, Elsie Hughes shifted her gaze from the note, finding him automatically in the hallway. The sweet smile Charles Carson received was steadfastly genuine, leaving him slightly breathless.

They held each other's gaze for a moment, sharing thanks and even an acknowledgment of a victory for keeping a secret from one another, if only for a while. It took the noisy entrance of a hall boy from the courtyard to break their eye contact. Reluctantly, Mr. Carson left Elsie Hughes to the sanctuary of her sitting room and returned to his own haven to recover from whatever just transpired.

In an effort to recover, Elsie Hughes moved to close her door. Before she could, Beryl Patmore appeared just outside her door. Earlier, the miniature volcano of a woman investigated the reason why the imposing butler stopped in his tracks outside her kitchen. Torn between goading the housekeeper and butler for being caught out and gently encouraging them, Mrs. Patmore found the strength to choose the path of most discretion.

"One day, Elsie Hughes, I will ask you the meaning of what just happened out here. Until then, you're in my debt and I'll be counting interest."

"When I figure out what that was, I'll think about repaying a debt, if there even is one," Mrs. Hughes returned imperiously. Her eyes, however, conveyed gratitude, before she finally closed her door.

Leaning her back against the door, Elsie Hughes sighed deeply. She thought of Charles Carson, as he explained it, window shopping in Ripon when he stumbled onto the seemingly unassuming box she now possessed. The thought brought a tender smile to her face, as the fruits of his labor perfectly echoed their conversation over a champagne nightcap. With the box closed, no one would ever guess it contained a delicate interior. While he suggested the box as a place of safekeeping for her keys while in her bedroom, the accompanying note felt equally at home in its confines. Either way, this purposeful, sweet gift was to be cherished in her room upstairs.

Returning to her side table, she retrieved the note, rereading it in earnest. Amongst the brief discussion of practical uses for her surprise, Charles Carson revealed yet another part of him:

_Give me time, my dearest friend. I know there are limits to your patience, as I've tripped those wires more times than probably anyone in your acquaintance. As I've said before, I know you'll never abandon me; but you deserve more. I endeavor to give you just that._

_Things are changing, of that I assure you. You coaxed me out of my chrysalis, for which I am eternally grateful. It is yet another great leap, however, to flap my wings and venture out into this new world. I will make it there, with your steadying hand. _

_Your ever devoted friend, C._

Recalling their time at the beach, Elsie Hughes, as if by compulsion, dared to offer her hand to him out of practicality and playfulness. Now, Charles Carson sought her out to traverse the shifting sands towards something solid and real. That he recognized their progress and the need to share their burdens as they did in their professional lives, Elsie committed herself to both offering her own hand and reaching out and taking his whenever they could manage.

As the downstairs din grew in volume, Elsie Hughes shook herself from her thoughts. Work still needed to be done before luncheon. She finally moved to her desk and tried to focus on the task at hand. Tending to the checklists on her desk, she discovered an opportune moment for Charles Carson and Elsie Hughes on the horizon. She glanced out her window, chewing on her lip in deep thought. Perhaps they could move their progress back to the open air. After all, it catapulted them this far already.

Elsie Hughes needed only to wait until Sunday to test her theory.


	5. Succour, Pt 1

Dear readers, thanks again for sticking with me. Please review if you have a moment (as I go read and review fics I've missed in my mad dash to get this to you all). I'd love to know your thoughts. Happy Monday, and Happy Chelsie-ing!

* * *

With a knowing, warm smile, Elsie Hughes stood in the doorway of Mr. Carson's pantry closest to the Servant's Hall, watching him pace from silver pantry to side table with elements of that evening's table settings. Without stopping, he smiled at her upon discovering he was being watched.

"We won't have to worry about silver for Sunday luncheon," Mrs. Hughes casually mentioned.

He continued his movements with a drawn out, "Yes. The family is dining with the Ashton's after church."

She closed the door gently before asking, "perhaps we can share a walk after, before the servant's lunch?"

Finally, his movements halted.

Thankfully, Charles Carson managed to not drop any of the precious pieces. She could practically see the machinery in his mind calculating the time and distance between the church, the Ashton's, and Downton. He was also likely pondering how much time that would give them to chat before the servant's luncheon and the time needed that afternoon to setup for the family's evening dinner. She was attempting to give Charles Carson his own time to "get there," wherever it would take them. But, time away from Downton, like this, was rare. At last, this realization dawned on him. It took every ounce of resolve for Elsie Hughes to not look victorious. Instead, she tucked her chin, her lips thinning to a small line.

"Perhaps we can, Mrs. Hughes. Hopefully, the weather will be agreeable."

* * *

A most agreeable day did dawn on Sunday. It was something for which Charles Carson bowed his head in thanks during church services. Even Mr. Travis seemed to be affected by it, delivering his sermon with renewed and thoughtful vigor. While Mr. Carson agreed with the finer points of the homily, his anxiety began to rise with each passing moment. He was not an impatient man, learning the fine art of waiting on the family and their guests for hours on end without the slightest sign of wishing for a close to an interminable day. The thought of a shared walk, however, made Charles Carson anxious with anticipation.

Never leaving anything to chance, Charles Carson was quick to depart the church at the conclusion of services, setting his plan in motion to secure the family on their journey to the Ashton's while ensuring the servants were well occupied before luncheon. Foreclosing any opportunity of interruption for their walk back to the cottage, Mr. Carson alone secured the family in their cars before they headed off to the Ashton estate. In the interim, Mrs. Hughes shared a few moments with Mrs. Crawley, a woman grateful to not have to spend an afternoon with a family well-known for its traditional ways.

As Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes bid her a pleasant afternoon, Isobel Crawley couldn't help but wonder on the state of things between the butler and housekeeper. Indebted as she was to Mrs. Hughes for drawing her out of her grief, Isobel Crawley felt something more than Mrs. Hughes' natural generosity motivated the need to connect her with Charlie Grigg. The thought was confirmed as Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes walked together, perfectly in sync, as they departed from the train station after seeing off the lesser half of the Cheerful Charlies. Mrs. Crawley spied that same togetherness now and hoped the beautiful day developing would not be wasted on the butler and housekeeper.

* * *

Charles Carson and Elsie Hughes walked companionably, despite this occasion charged with possibility. They had walked from the village, alone, on previous occasions. They had walked the ample grounds of Downton, as well. But something made each new moment they shared together a first because they knew more of where they stood with each other. They knew more, but not all. That was enough to generate the type of excitement and anxiety that reigned when two young lovers walked each other to the corner.

Past the village proper, Charles Carson offered his arm to Elsie Hughes. She was neither surprised nor disappointed by his restraint while in town. Theirs was new territory they were navigating. Above all, it was theirs and no one else's, for the moment. Together, they chose a lesser trodden walking path for their return to the Abbey, a route likely to be overrun by wildflowers this late in the summer. Their path was shaded with glimpses of sunlight casting an almost ethereal glow on their excursion. They encountered wide swaths of marigolds, forget-me-nots, and clustered bellflowers. It was tempered disorder, natural yet loosely planned. It couldn't have been a more fitting walk for the pair.

They were treading on untouched ground, literally, and he could feel she was somewhat tense. Finally, she spoke. "Do you mind if I remove my hat, Mr. Carson?"

"Why should I mind?"

"A lady removing her hat, outdoors, before a man – how very risqué," she said half-jokingly.

He hesitated a moment, trying to find the right words. "Only if I join you, Mrs. Hughes."

At that, he removed his sensible bowler. They both shared a chuckle before continuing on, her left arm looped with his right, to a spot with just a bit more shade. Content to pause a moment at the crest of a gentle hill, Elsie Hughes pulled the pins securing her hat, affixing them to the brim.

They stood together, close but apart. They were content to gaze on the Yorkshire flora, still flourishing even as the summer was beginning to give way to autumn. A breeze gently swept in, providing a soft harmony of rustling leaves and grasses voiced by nature alone. A soft, Scottish lilt eventually joined it in perfect synchrony.

"Being without my hat makes me feel like a wee lass again," she explained eventually.

He could hear her sigh – contented and yet somewhat melancholy. "Do you miss Scotland, now?"

"In the past, I might have. But my sister is no longer there, so it's now more a memory."

"But not a regret? You have changed, our world has changed," he prompted.

"Yes, life has altered me and continues to do so," she admitted. "But as for missing it, not it exactly - no. It would have been a different life. But, I was proud to rise to the ranks of housekeeper. Becoming a farmer's wife didn't interest me. That life didn't interest me. I didn't want to rely on someone else."

At that he had to smile. "You don't need to rely on anyone else. You're the most capable person I've ever known."

She returned his smile briefly before gazing back at the meadow. Both knew each held the other in highest regard. But it floored her, nevertheless. Even more so, it encouraged her to embark on an ambitious course. "I don't need to rely on someone, or at least, I thought I didn't."

Charles Carson treaded carefully. "I'm not sure if I follow."

Her eyebrows raised, she took in a breath to find the right words. Elsie Hughes had to be careful, herself. "Well, relying on others to provide for material comforts, that's one thing. Joe Burns wanted to do that, although it would have been a very hard life." At that, Charles Carson willed his body and limbs to stay absolutely still, which was no ordinary feat. Recent recollections of the events surrounding Mr. Burns' momentary resurfacing in her life only brought Mr. Carson anxiety.

Not wanting to dwell, Mrs. Hughes continued, "Perhaps there would have been companionship. But it also would have meant a life without camaraderie, without culture or humour, without… everything that my life at Downton stands for."

At that, he gripped his hat, almost crushing the brim. To know this life meant that much to her, despite their differing views of particular family members, was assuring and worrying in the same instant. He recalled the breath he held before she told him she had declined Mr. Burns' proposal. Charles Carson valued Elsie Hughes then, but he hadn't associated his fear with love at the time. But today. Today was different. Both Charles Carson and Elsie Hughes had let life alter them, and it only brought them closer.

As she shed further light on what kept her at Downton despite the prospect of a different life, he had to ask: "What about relying on others for different, less material reasons?"

She turned towards him slightly, torn between wanting to divine his emotions and afraid of witnessing his wall closing after daring to be so forward. His eyes would tell her in time. And so, Elsie Hughes began slowly. But she couldn't chance a glimpse yet. She soldiered on, rallied by the refreshing breeze and glimpses of brilliant sunlight in the distance.

"Mr. Travis used a word today that always intrigues me," she started.

Thrown off by her change in direction, he asked, "and what word is that?"

"Succour: to provide help and aid in times of need," she explained.

"You certainly provide that for so many, whether they are deserving or undeserving. And I include myself in that score," Charles Carson remarked. In his mind, Elsie Hughes truly was the earthly epitome of the concept. From Mrs. Crawley to Ethel, Mr. Branson, William, to Anna – she touched them all. It was a marvelous quality, one he could never quite understand. Its depths seemed fathomless, especially when it came to him. He often wondered, however, if her roles as superior, friend, mother, and confidant ever threatened to consume her.

"And you provide succour to me, Mr. Carson." She could see, with a sidelong glance, the raising of his chin and the rhythmic clenching of his jaw. One hand, previously crushing his hat, was now practically twirling in the breeze. Before he could interrupt her, she continued, sensing his unsaid thoughts. "I may not have let you provide me support directly when I thought I might be ill, but you still found a way indirectly. I was touched by whatever you said to prompt her ladyship. I still am."

"Yet you knew, and still wouldn't let me help directly," Charles Carson countered. The emotional wound still smarted, although her thoughts today somewhat explained her reluctance to rely on others.

"No, I didn't," she conceded. "I regret that now."

In a graveled, quiet voice filled with emotion, he continued, "I know it is impertinent of me, but I need to know why."

Her mouth opened, then closed harshly upon her long-suffering lower lip.

* * *

To be continued (perhaps later today...).


	6. Succour, Pt 2

Previously on Quiet Evolution:

"And you provide succour to me, Mr. Carson." She could see, with a sidelong glance, the raising of his chin and the rhythmic clenching of his jaw. One hand, previously crushing his hat, was now practically twirling in the breeze. Before he could interrupt her, she continued, sensing his unsaid thoughts. "I may not have let you provide me support directly when I thought I might be ill, but you still found a way indirectly. I was touched by whatever you said to prompt her ladyship. I still am."

"Yet you knew, and still wouldn't let me help directly," Charles Carson countered. The emotional wound still smarted, although her thoughts today somewhat explained her reluctance to rely on others.

"No, I didn't," she conceded. "I regret that now."

In a graveled, quiet voice filled with emotion, he continued, "I know it is impertinent of me, but I need to know why."

Her mouth opened, then closed harshly upon her long-suffering lower lip.

* * *

He deserved to know, Elsie Hughes had privately conceded that long ago. But the consequences of telling him why she kept the truth at bay were complicated beyond imagining. Or so she thought. That the hustle and bustle of running a house went on as it did before her illness made it convenient for her to continue on as if nothing happened.

Still, there was a divide between them - created initially by their professions, maintained by ensuring the depths of their friendship remained unknown, and by her secrecy. But, with each new day, they grew closer, toeing the line to the point of it fading almost completely away. At times, they even crossed it: he went to her ladyship to ease her workload at a most delicate time; she went to the workhouse to repair a broken friendship and his broken heart in the process. Perhaps things left unsaid should fester no longer. Perhaps it was time.

"For a long while, I wasn't sure you would be prepared for my answer or I for your reaction," she explained as her Scottish brogue grew thicker.

His body turned as he looked sharply at her, trying to read her thoughts as he took in her profile. She wouldn't face him yet, still slightly afraid for his answer. After all, this was Charles Carson, personification of order and tradition since overcoming the passions that ruled him in his youth. Her answer would cut across his stoic, staid edifice. From deep within, the young man of passion was spurred - by her veiled comment, by impatience, by impending regret if he let their shared fears rule them any longer. But this was Charles Carson and Elsie Hughes, preeminent partners in most things, perhaps all things. They would meet each other half way. The thought, calming and energizing, was enough for him to deliberately increase the speed of their entropy.

"I'm beginning to be prepared," he started, before trailing off, leaving a pregnant pause.

It was then she tore her gaze from the rolling meadow to the man who stood, eerily calm, next to her. His hair had become slightly unruly, not unlike during their Brighton outing. It made him look years younger and less guarded. Then she found his eyes, where all his action concentrated. He didn't dare speak again, yet. Elsie Hughes hadn't played all of her cards. Instead, he stood still, standing at the threshold of his open wall. Waiting.

To Elsie Hughes, Charles Carson's eyes told a story all their own – familiar, yet, as always, filled with intrigue. While the pair often made the rounds upstairs in the mornings, sharing quiet, utilitarian exchanges in passing, so much of their interaction occurred in the dimly lit world of downstairs.

Outside in their barely shaded spot, Charles Carson's eyes came alive. Of course, the milky chocolate, warm and full of kindness, was closest to his pupils. Further outward, she found a kaleidoscope of colors, as light and varied as the meadow in which they found themselves. His eyes were conveying gratitude, hope balanced by fear, and something Elsie Hughes, the strong and self-supporting, had no strength to name since first seeing it in his eyes. Until, perhaps, today.

"You've asked me 'what' and 'why,' Mr. Carson, and I shall tell you." Looking down for a moment, she ventured onwards with her thoughts. "I don't need someone else in my life. But that doesn't mean that's how I want the rest of my life to be: alone, with regret, without being able to share happiness and sorrow alike with the one person I hold most dear." Faltering, her eyes darted away, searching the landscape for courage.

"The reason why I couldn't tell you about the… cancer… is because I didn't want you to feel beholden in providing me something beyond mere succour. I didn't want your pity or anything borne from a sense of duty. I wouldn't have wanted moments bereft of genuineness." Looking back, she raised her gaze to meet his. "Perhaps I was selfish. Perhaps there would have been moments of sweetness, but it wouldn't have been genuine, not entirely. I'm not sure I could have handled that on top of the prospect of dying."

His mind was reeling with her implications, but the simple truth remained: it was her life, her health. But it could have been their future. "I would have done anything for you, you must know that," he said with a quiet urgency that was becoming a common feature of their conversations lately. She was right, however. He would have felt a sense of duty, as well as friendship, and something he would have been terrified to identify at the time.

"But why?" Elsie Hughes couldn't help but prod, somehow questioning both his spoken and unspoken thoughts. They were on the precipice of something new, imbued by past tensions and the prospect of finally going another way, together.

Equally aware of the precipice, Charles Carson panicked. Even more so, anger festered. Despite the immense relief he felt upon learning she was without cancer, his anger rebuilt itself at the mere memory of the alarm that gripped him during those days. As a fellow servant, friend, or perhaps lover, she could have been lost to him. That she angled for his motivations about this of all things hurt and angered him as if she was Paris to his Achilles: her question re-injuring the weakest part of him, piercing with effortless accuracy.

His jaw clenched and lips thinned, but he couldn't control his anger. His head shaking as he spewed out the only things that came to mind, he questioned. "Why does one do anything? Why did you prod me about Grigg? About Alice? Truly, why?" His deflection, though telling, was unsurprising to her.

She rubbed her right thumb punishingly over her left hand as she clasped them in front of her waist, an action Charles Carson long associated with Elsie Hughes marshaling her temper and thoughts. She started again, with an edge to her voice despite the sentiment being conveyed. "Because you deserve to be happy and I could tell something prevented you from being able to do that. Something beyond being a butler and a lifetime of service."

"You deserved to be happy, too, especially if you were going to be ill. But instead, you moved on. Instead, you expressed your concern for me by needling," he said aloud to himself as much as her. Despite his anger, Charles Carson cowered at the sight of Elsie Hughes registering shock before her eyes narrowed to a withering glare.

Elsie Hughes responded with a biting and quick remark – far too quick for her agile mind to prevent. "Yes, I needled you, Mr. Carson. And, 'why does one do anything?' Out of love, that's why!" Her eyes grew wide as she registered what escaped from her subconscious.

"Out of love?" He was unable to temper the dumbfounded expression on his face and in his voice. He knew, deep in the recesses of his heart of the possibility they would get here, to this moment. She had almost said as much not a minute before. Still, he could barely process it. This lovely creature before him – full of life and passion that intimidated, angered, and inspired him, practically yelled a word that no wall in his mind could shut out. Nor would he ever want it to be, not anymore.

But as she stepped closer to him, eyes still wide, Charles Carson's anger was overcome by a glimmer of hope - the prospect of a future that only recently he had allowed himself to imagine. He looked endearingly earnest with his hat resting at his side, his hair moving with the gentle breeze.

Without volition, her hand began a trail to familiar places on his left arm – the strong forearm she touched countless times to guide him through their work together; the elbow that kept her close on their walk; and the shoulder she touched at the close of their champagne evening. But it wouldn't stop there. Her hand, guided by simple but overpowering emotion, sought out his cheek, needing to punctuate her final, explicit revelation. Before she could, Charles Carson interrupted.

"Elsie," he breathed unsteadily, as a confession and a prayer.

Both stilled their actions – their breaths drawn and hearts skipping a beat. Their entropy, so long a creature of disorder, of changing speeds of slow and slower, also paused, but for a moment.

"Please, say it again, Charles."

Something in him snapped. At the sound of her saying his Christian name, his fingers itched to touch her in response, causing his bowler hat to fall unnoticed in the waiting bed of wildflowers, forgotten in the moment. Needing a beachhead in the new world they were creating, he reached for her shoulder. But like hers, Charles Carson's hand was not content to stay there. As if sensing his thoughts, Elsie Hughes dropped her own hat as her right hand left his cheek to grasp his left hand, just as they did at the beach. Today, they steadied each other in the current of swirling emotions.

He looked at their joined hands, his large one resting under hers. They were so very close, yet he needed to be closer. Stooping lower, tilting his neck to reach her face, Charles gently nuzzled her cheek momentarily to accustom themselves with their new proximity. He could hear Elsie faintly draw in a breath, holding it as he continued his ministrations. Needing more despite his inward alarm of propriety ringing in his ears, Charles Carson placed feathery kisses on her cheek. Once, as a question of permission. The others that followed formed a trail of silent preludes as he gently proceeded to her ear.

Whispering, with a low and luxurious timbre to his voice, "Elsie Hughes," he finally declared, "I love you."

When he whispered her name, she exhaled a ragged breath. But when he lowered the boom of his inevitable yet still earth-shattering declaration, she sharply inhaled and stepped back a half step in an instant. She needed to see his eyes, finally capable of naming that last, lingering emotion she identified long ago. It was there, alright – love lit Charles Carson openly. It was a sight to behold and to mirror on her own face.

Tugging on their joined hands, Elsie adjusted their grips as she guided his hand to her lips. Grazing his knuckles, she finally answered his last question: "And I love you, Charles Carson."

The catharsis of hearing the unvarnished truth, hidden for years under layers of self-protective coatings caused them smile and laugh in blessed relief. Their mirth joined the harmony of rustling trees. It was their song: improvised, natural, and yet inevitable in its tone, pitch, and tempo.

Charles shifted a bit, moving a few steps down the soft hill that served as their confessional. His height no longer imposing, he pulled their joined hands to his lips, echoing Elsie's tender pose as she expressed her love.

"You were almost right, Mr. Carson," she said in a tone slightly higher than normal.

He smirked against her knuckles. They were changing as the speed of their entropy increased, the warmth of it enveloping their moment. But in some ways, importantly, she remained the same: beautiful and full of the spirit that enraged and beguiled him.

"Almost right? And I thought it was 'Charles?'"

It was her turn to grin, feeling grateful as he didn't back away from the magnitude of the moment. "Almost right about being a stranger to romance. You're certainly not a stranger to it now."

"And in the future?"

"That is entirely up to you, Charles Carson." He shivered at the thought and the way his name rolled off her tongue. "I do have conditions, mind you," she continued.

He lowered their still joined hands to study her beautiful countenance. He had been caught up in warmth and soft skin before. Now he returned to her face, expressive to only those that she let in or angered her. Even though he saw both sides of her coin often enough, her face was inscrutable now, making him slightly weary.

"Please don't overthink this. I imagine we've spent countless hours thinking on it, at least I have." He finally let out a held breath, his eyes crinkling at her confession in equal parts agreement and rueful shame. "Don't try to make up for lost years. There are no lost years, just the present and future. That we both share in the knowledge of what we have together is enough for right now."

"And what if I do want to romance you? Properly, I mean."

"Then I will take whatever times we have together gladly. Just know that, if you do decide to do something, I expect nothing except genuineness – nothing artificial or 'cloying.' Otherwise, you are under no obligations from me."

The thumb of his free hand caressed her cheekbone then, grateful for her memory and keen mind that understood him even as he spoke in slightly veiled tones about champagne a short while ago. Her non-obligation typified the ease with which they had and will continue to conduct their lives together.

"I told you that you deserved more," he murmured, watching his own hand ghost across her skin, needing to watch as well as feel to assure him this was no dream.

"I would say the same for you. I'm not sure what I deserve, Charles. But I will take what you can give - no more, no less."

"No more, no less, Elsie. No more, no less," he echoed in quiet wonderment, unable to contain the small grin as he said her name again.

"But, Mr. Carson?" His eyebrows raised in acknowledgement. His smile couldn't be repressed at the sound of her addressing him formally in a quite informal tone. "If you'd like to romance me now before we must return, I don't think I would be opposed."

His breath stopped for a moment as she tilted her head, her blue eyes sparkling as she offered her playful suggestion.

In a measured pace despite a rapidly beating heart, he inched forward, tilting his head to be closer to her. As he nudged her nose, before finally brushing her lips, he murmured, "Quite right, Mrs. Hughes, quite right."

* * *

To be continued.

A/N's:

1: This was extraordinarily difficult to write, I admit it freely. To those of who you have conquered or attempted to conquer the same seminal moments in Chelsie-dom, I bow down to you and kiss your feet. If you have any thoughts - about this, about a possible endgame (although I have one loosely in mind) - they are welcomed!

2: The thought of ending a scene with him calling her Mrs. Hughes has always struck me as appropriate ever since I heard Jim Carter's remark that "even if they were married, he'd still call her Mrs. Hughes, wouldn't he."

3: Also, I would be remiss in not stating that the image of Mr. Leonard Bast of Howard's End wandering about a field of bluebells did provide some motivation to have our Chelsie wander amongst some wildflowers (bluebells, included) for yet another revelation.

4: Lastly - you all are the best. Simply the best. Thank you for reading!


	7. Digesting the Future

Hello again – it's been a few weeks. We're entering into a new phase of the story (I'm so glad we made it here!), and I hope you'll stay along for the ride. Like Charles and Elsie, I was equally surprised they made their confessions in the last chapter. But it couldn't be helped. It's getting closer to September and my patience with no Downton on the telly is starting to wear thin. Let me know what you think – awesome, good, or constructive criticism. I'm obliged to you all.

* * *

Shutting the door to her small but solitary bedroom, Elsie Hughes breathed a sigh of contentment. Torn between exhaustion and adrenaline, she began the age-old task of preparing for bed. As she secured the chatelaine in its nightly resting place, she smiled at the foxglove lining of her special box, not at all disappointed in not seeing the flowers on their walk back from church. They created new memories in a field of wildflowers all their own.

Unbuttoning her silk and satin dress, she recalled the gentle but intent touches of Mr. Carson's fingers on her cheek, shoulders, upper back... Shaking her head as she secured her frock in her wardrobe and continued to undress, she realized the new familiarity they were to share was, and may continue to be, overwhelming. Following decades of veiled comments and faint touches to guide each other from one room to the next, nothing could have prepared her for the moment he whispered her name. Responding with his Christian name when her own fell from his lips, that had been purely instinctual. Perhaps they would need to rely on instinct in the days and weeks ahead of finding a new way together.

Even with instinct, fumbling and untold joys would likely follow in the wake of their inevitable but still unexpected revelations. After all, their outing already produced similar outcomes, leaving them overjoyed and slightly bewildered at the speed of their entropy. Love expressed in shy brushes of lips was natural after a lifetime of pining and never acting. But the stirring of passion as soft, gentle kisses became more insistent was an exciting and daunting surprise for them both. It left them breathless.

Turning to her bed, she slipped her fingers between the sheets, tunneling them until enough was gathered in her hands to turn the bed down. The soft, smooth surface against her fingers brought her back to the hair of Mr. Carson. Charles.

* * *

Running his hand through his greying locks, Charles Carson gave a labored sigh before slowly buttoning his pajama shirt. Carelessly leaving a few buttons unsecured at the top to help him endure an uncharacteristically warm evening, he slowly closed his eyes as a gentle breeze wafted in from his window. Secreted away in his bedroom, in his inner thoughts that took over before giving way to slumber each evening, he relived everything from their morning. Unlike the collection of moving images that consoled him yesterday, tonight he was awash with memories from every sense - the muted perfume of wildflowers, her raised voice before her glorious laughter, her expressive eyes, her hands tunneling through the hair at his nape, the sweetness of her lips...

Shaking himself, Charles was grateful for the quiet, solitary evening they gave each other. The solitude, while possibly an invitation for fears and doubts to spawn, was necessary to process the magnitude of their moment. All day, they had found small crises and tasks with which to occupy themselves. While they did manage to converse and share unspoken conversations with eyebrows and knowing looks, they were short but not terse as they verbally interacted in the more public spaces of downstairs. More perceptive observers would likely attribute the demeanor of their downstairs rulers to the discomfort that comes with a possibly unwelcome, shared secret regarding household affairs.

Their progress was far from unwelcome, Charles thought. But it certainly set him adrift despite how easy she tried to make things for him. Even in the midst of the uncertainty regarding her health, her choice to keep things secret, he could understand with slightly less anger, was meant to make things easier on both of them.

This evening, she had eased his worrying mind once again.

* * *

Earlier that night.

_She was seated at her desk as he softly knocked on her door. Even at the end of the day, she smiled softly while never breaking away from her work. _

_"Good evening, Mrs. Hughes."_

_"Mr. Carson," she responded, slightly bemused by his formal address while her door was securely shut. Coming to a stopping point, she rotated her desk chair to find him by her china cabinet. His stance was slightly hunched and his demeanor could only be described as uneasy. Throughout the day, his countenance vacillated between guarded happiness and aimless preoccupation. But since dinner, he looked troubled._

_"Do you mind if I say goodnight? It's been a pleasantly eventful day," Mr. Carson admitted with a muted smile. "I would like to take care of a few things tomorrow morning before I meet with his lordship." There it was, again - the thoughtful pout._

_She gently asked, "does this have anything to do with their afternoon with the Ashton's?" At that, he reoriented his gaze to meet her blue eyes, unsurprised by her correct guess. "Apparently, both Lady Mary and his lordship were impressed with some of the changes in the running of the estate." Mrs. Hughes was twice surprised in receiving the private and unsolicited reports from Anna and Baxter detailing the enthusiasm witnessed before the family headed down to dinner._

_"His lordship expressed the same before dinner. They did hire a new butler and housekeeper a few months ago. From what I gather, major changes were implemented in the house, as well as the larger estate."_

_"And I can bet they were on Mr. Blake and Mr. Napier's watch list for faltering estates."_

_Placing his hands on the back of her settee by the fire, Mr. Carson raised his eyebrows and dipped his head in agreement. "I wouldn't be surprised," he said before sighing. "It makes me wonder what his lordship would like to discuss. They used to have such a grand estate - full of style and pomp before the war."_

_"As were many households. But things cannot continue on as before. That's life," Mrs. Hughes concluded before Mr. Carson grunted noncommittally. In her faintly lit room, she tilted her head to study him as he continued to be lost in thought. Her own thoughts were conflicted. She was concerned for his anxious mind, inwardly thrilled at knowing what it felt like to touch the errant wisps of cropped hair at the nape of his neck, and gladdened by the fact that they could still operate as professional partners and confidants after this morning. But if changes were to come, she wondered if he could adapt and endure. Or step down._

_"I'm sorry, Mrs. Hughes," he expressed before returning to his usually regal bearing. "I should let you continue on with your work, although I hope it won't keep you for much longer."_

_She smiled, warmed by his concern. "Not for much longer, no." His hands were moving at his sides again as his eyes were fixed on the stone floor. She faltered. They were blessed with the ability to communicate without words on most occasions. Except, those occasions were about the needs, wants, and desires of others - not themselves. She could not decide if his fidgeting was a matter of nerves about his impending meeting or their new awareness of each other's love. It was still so new, and she didn't want to overwhelm or be overwhelmed by emotion. Not yet. So, she rotated back to her desktop to give him space. "Goodnight, Mr. Carson."_

_As she shuffled some papers, Mrs. Hughes could still see his movements with the aid of the small mirror backing to her desk hutch. When he began to advance towards her, she willed herself to stay focused on her paperwork. Through the mirror, she spied his tan hand, set off against the stark contrast of his livery, moving towards her right shoulder. As he caressed her, his fingers slightly massaging the material of her dress, her eyes closed shut as her chin slightly raised._

_After a moment, she heard his lumbered breath before he spoke in hushed tones. "We….This is all…," he faltered._

_"Almost overwhelming, isn't it?" He smiled softly, squeezing her shoulder in acknowledgment. In return, she subtly turned her head, bending her neck so that her soft cheek nuzzled his hand for a moment. He marveled at her effect on him. She soothed and almost overwhelmed again by the simplest of touches. He was grateful for his partner – in work, in thoughts, and an uncharted future._

_"Almost," he echoed. "But we'll steady each other." It was his mantra – meant to assure himself, as well as her. _

_Her right hand had long abandoned her pen to rest on the linen rota. Releasing her shoulder to cup her hand with his own, he reverently kissed the faint freckles on the back of her hand. They were details he had observed as he passed her countless dinner plates as he doled out stews and soups for the servants. But only this morning did he begin to truly see each freckle and desire to learn the stories behind them. _

_"Goodnight," he whispered, before gently releasing her hand._

_"Goodnight."_

* * *

Reaching behind her in the darkness, she shuffled to become more comfortable. Restless thoughts beget a restless body. Finally content physically, she ran her right hand over the soft yet crisp edges of her temporary respite. Elsie Hughes utilized few perquisites as housekeeper. But she did not hesitate to secure an extra pillow for her bed. Often, it supported her back as her soul and imagination were nourished by a novel or book of poetry. Tonight, however, it served as a source of both physical and emotional comfort.

When she was a child on the farm, she was blessed to rarely share a bed with her sister. There were the rare occasions of visiting family members or the essential need for warmth in the dead of winter. Even in the untamed days of learning the ways of being a maid in respectable households, she had not known the joys of sharing a bed overnight, of being warmed by the sheer presence of another.

But her soul, earthy and warm, instinctually knew that slumbering with another would be extraordinarily comforting. Her arms enveloped her feather-filled substitute. One leg bent so that her thigh brushed the bottom of it. Her head rested on its soft surface, warmed and warming in her presence. While the pillow would likely end up in the floor as the heat of the evening overcame her, she needed the nourishing comfort of her substitute now.

Closing her eyes, the pillow took on the feeling of Mr. Carson's overcoat, his hair, his soft cheek. On previous evenings, her mind would similarly transform the pillow to represent the man behind the butler facade. Now, she could catalogue more completely what this kind of intimacy could be like with him. _Would be like_, she thought, recognizing with cautious optimism the forward progress they were making after confessing their love. As she began to lose her battle with fatigue, Elsie Hughes blissfully wondered what other textures she would learn of Charles Carson to catalogue away and recall in her nights spent in bed, alone for now.

* * *

Unlike the carefully-kept logs he kept as butler, Charles Carson did not keep a personal diary regularly. However, an inconspicuous volume did contain the instances in which some of the more persistent thoughts during his lifetime connected his hand to pen and paper. Tonight, he removed the book from its hiding place, fingering the spine and outer edges of its cover. Opening it to a block of empty pages, he placed it at his flip top desk near the door before turning to his wardrobe. In his haste to change into his usual daytime livery, he neglected to remove a token following his walk with Mrs. Hughes.

As he acquired a small bunch of wildflowers from his overcoat, Charles Carson smiled indulgently. Mrs. Hughes had been too preoccupied in securing her hat to observe him reach for his bowler and a few wildflowers simultaneously. Had she seen him, Mrs. Hughes would have been well within her rights to playfully chastise him for his sentimentality.

Returning to his journal, he thought of his mother. Their family library, if it could be characterized as such, was infinitesimal in comparison to the Grantham collection. But, the Carsons did have a book devoted to family memories. What was left of little Charlie Carson in the butler's mind recalled his mother gingerly opening the volume at their dinner table. She would sit close to him in spare moments before his stern father would return from his work to object to such sentimentality. His mother shared memories of their family mapped out by dried and pressed flowers – pages of roses, pansies, and daisies from long before the ubiquity and affordability of portrait silhouettes and photographs. With each page, he saw her inhale with eyes closed before recalling the wedding of an aunt, the death of her father, and on, and on.

While echoing the vision of his mother, Charles Carson thought back to that morning. The worrier in him wondered - was it worth commemorating? A love acknowledged and shared after a lifetime of willfully ignoring old wounds and overprotecting in fruitless bids for self-reliance? Absolutely, the increasingly brave Charles Carson thought as he carefully placed each marigold, forget-me-not, and clustered bellflower on the page. Once arranged, he carefully inscribed at the top, "Our Meadow."

Carefully closing his occasional journal-flower press, he re-secured it by stacking a few books on top to ensure the flowers would flatten over time as they dried. Shaking his head as he turned off the lights, he muttered, "sentimental, indeed." But Elsie Hughes brought out so many things in him he never thought he possessed, or at least had discarded long ago. Her mostly quiet tenacity coupled with a tender, giving heart worked to smooth some of his rougher edges that commonly discomforted and occasionally injured their staff.

Settling himself on his narrow, worn mattress, he stared through the darkness at the wingback chair beside his bed. He could picture her there, quietly determined to will him out of the darkest throes of the Spanish flu. Out of necessity, he shared his cloistered world as he faded in and out of consciousness. But now, he looked forward to unburdening and sharing more with her - memories of old loves, his misspent youth, and the stirrings of passion he thought he lost as he had aged. His mother, the sentimental pastime of pressing flowers, and the unexplored depths of his passion - he would share it all with Elsie Hughes, in time.

* * *

You all are awesome, as are your reviews. I'd love to hear from you.


	8. A Matter of Faith

On any other day, Charles Carson would walk purposefully back to the estate after concluding his business in the village. Today, however, he strolled while deep in contemplation, his arms swaying with less than their usual vigor. A few weeks had passed since meeting initially with his lordship, Mr. Branson, and Lady Mary to discuss the future of Downton. They had asked him to reach out to the Ashton's butler to divine the new techniques their household employed. Along with Mr. Branson, he apprised the family of similar improvements that could be made to the plumbing, heating, electrical, and lighting schemes for upstairs as well as downstairs. This alone was not unfamiliar or unwelcome. It was perhaps the only redeeming aspect of his temporary intent to become butler at Haxby Park as it underwent similar changes. As for Mrs. Patmore, she would likely mount a noisy and sustained defense against plans they had for an even more efficient refrigeration system.

Ultimately, it would prepare Downton for when less staff was needed or could be lured into service. The latter would hardly be surprising after job prospects altered and improved (for men, at least) upon the war's conclusion. Mr. Carson had already found it more difficult to provide a compelling reason to stay when hallboys expressed their intent to leave for the cities. After all, he had done much the same when he left to become a performer. But some of the reasons that made him return and stay in service – tradition and honor – did not interest younger staff. To be at the beck and call of others from dawn to well past dusk only led younger staff away from manors and estates like Downton. As he began to age, his joints became stiffer, and as his love grew for a Scottish housekeeper, he began to imagine a life without having to rise at the peal of a bell.

Over lunch at the pub, the new butler at the Ashton estate met again with Mr. Carson. Naturally, he was a younger man full of capability. He explained with enthusiasm his method of incorporating technology as he coped with a smaller staff. It wasn't a matter of unfeeling commercialism – of mere dollars and cents. That's what surprised Charles Carson the most. It was more a matter of getting on and adapting to the changing times. But showman of the Old Guard that he was, Charles Carson couldn't help but want to keep to older methods or simply go another way.

As their meal wound down, the Ashton's butler casually spoke of his wife, the Ashton's housekeeper, and how they both utilized technology in managing the laundry demands as well as keeping food fresher and longer. The salient detail of their marriage didn't come up in previous conversations and caused Mr. Carson to choke on his drink for a moment. Unaware of the nature of the disturbance he caused, the other butler spoke of the house in London he managed before moving north. Charles Carson tried not to become distracted while contemplating a married butler and housekeeper living and working outside of London. He ultimately wasn't surprised by their marriage, but it was rare to see it outside of large cities. That their situation hadn't become a matter of gossip over letters with other butlers in the area or shops normally frequented by other men in service proved how not sensational it was in these parts. Times were indeed changing.

He sighed as he turned back onto the path that would lead him to the back door. Too many variables were darting about his mind, unwilling to still and be arranged into a successful solution. Charles Carson needed the aid of an agile mind, coupled with blue eyes he wouldn't mind gazing into while a fireplace lit their haven with a comforting, disinhibiting glow. It would be several hours yet until he had the chance make his dream a reality.

* * *

Now in his livery, he found her at her desk before needing to ring the dressing gong. They had yet to discuss the events of his afternoon in the village, as well yet another meeting with the family. He feared the day would never give way to their blessed night to be spent alone together.

She spun in her desk chair, smiling at him just as she did in the days and weeks before. He returned it with a crooked, sad smile of his own, aware that her love was there to observe for days, nay years, before he summoned the courage to confess his own. She said never to regret, but on some days it couldn't be helped.

Mrs. Hughes looked at him, filled with questions and expectations. "Tonight," he said in quiet askance, motioning that he preferred to meet in her sitting room. They often did, despite the grate. Mrs. Hughes had casually placed heavier objects in front of it that were bound to make noise if someone should move them. Their evenings were slowly turning more intimate, and they wordlessly worried about the window in his pantry overlooking the hallway.

His demeanor was discomforting this evening. His was neither grieving nor shaking with anger after his meeting with the family, which didn't tell her anything new. Instead, he looked pained by hesitation – by options with no clear resolution. "We'll discuss things tonight," she agreed in a soothing tone.

He eyed the decanter and their glasses on her china cabinet and softly smiled. "I think I'll take this to my pantry now, if you don't mind," he expressed before capably handling the silver tray holding the precious crystal.

Before he left the room completely, she called out. "Mr. Carson." He stopped and looked expectantly at her, trying to not become mesmerized by the way the light illuminated the reddish tones in her hair. He knew of its soft texture more, spending the past few weeks learning more about her as he could manage. "Whatever it is, we'll work it out together."

He waited a moment to speak, mulling over her offer. "Together, yes," he agreed before giving a slight bow and returning to his pantry.

* * *

At last, the evening upstairs had drawn to a close. Upon entering the housekeeper's sitting room, Charles Carson was slightly surprised by her absence. Left alone for a minute, he was overcome with the slightly absurd desire to sit in her desk chair. He wanted to be enveloped by things that enveloped her, even if he couldn't trust himself to restrain from locking her in a fierce embrace. After today, he needed comfort, but he also needed some focus. He figured its curved arms that kept her secure was an effective compromise. Mr. Carson lifted the chair carefully, bringing it closer to the settee and the fireplace, much as she had done on the evening of their champagne nightcap. This time, however, the chairs were close – closer than the seats separated by her side table near her door. Close enough to reach out to touch and be touched should the need arise. Or the desire.

Returning from the kitchens, Mrs. Hughes was shocked to find him recreating the setup of their champagne nightcap before the fireplace. She watched him sharply raise his head at the sound of her gasp-laugh, pausing as he placed the octagonal table near their close quarters. His embarrassment was short-lived, however, ending at the sight of her infectious smile.

"Daft man," she offered in loving tones after closing the door securely behind her.

She moved to sit at her desk chair, but his long fingers gently caught the crook in her elbow before she could advance past her settee. The touch, not-so-new anymore but still inviting, stopped her in her tracks.

"I thought you could relax in your settee – it looks much more comfortable," he murmured before inhaling her familiar scent.

Looking nearly straight up as he bore down upon her, she glanced at his lips. Since confessing their love, Elsie Hughes had made the difficult promise to herself of acting in public as if nothing had changed between them - no lingering glances, no overt touching. Today, like many others, she had willed herself not to stare at him openly after spending yet another night reliving the texture and taste of him as she curled up to her pillow. The desire she felt for this man – in the meadow, in the stillness of a dark night – frightened her. She wanted to channel it, contain it until the time was right to let it reign over her completely. But tonight, she felt it was probably not the right moment. Tonight, like many others, was about Downton.

But the warmth of her body mixed with his in the small space that separated them. They both wanted to be closer, but they settled for him bending his large frame to accommodate her small one. The kiss he sought and provided was soft, controlled, tender.

"Hello," he whispered before kissing her yet again.

Pulling away, she smiled in response. "Good evening. Fancy a sherry?"

He hummed in response before releasing her. His large frame sunk into the diminutive depths of the rounded desk chair. He was amused by his earlier compulsion as he tried get settled. Turning back to hand him his tiny crystal glass, she shook her head at the sight of him. It would be useless to bicker about switching seats, she realized. Charles Carson was nothing if not decidedly gallant and romantic, she was pleased to discover. This was his way of "properly" showing his love, despite the backache he was likely to acquire.

After quietly toasting and letting the sherry begin to dull their senses, Charles Carson began to recount the highlights of his discussion with the family, as well as the Ashton's butler.

* * *

The number of changes being contemplated was dizzying. Tomorrow, she was to join the extended conversation with the family members as they contemplated improving the laundry and kitchens. Turning her head away, Elsie Hughes let her eyes roam the room, the searching movement helping her to understand what the household initiatives meant to herself, Mr. Carson, as well as the staff.

Charles Carson watched her tenacious mind at work. He appreciated its inherent empathy with him and almost all who crossed her path. Where it lacked empathy, or felt it too much, it compelled her to speak and act in ways he would never understand. But he appreciated its quiet brilliance all the same, even as it often aggravated him. Now, he hoped it would assist him in dreaming of a new world for Downton. For each other.

Their late evening had drawn on, soon becoming a part of early morning. Glasses set aside, they continued to mull over the possibilities and complications facing upstairs and downstairs alike. After a long moment, he nearly repeated a confession made years earlier. "I used to think I would die here, haunting it ever after."

"And yet you considered leaving for Haxby," she responded without much reproach. He had to look away for a moment, almost ashamed at the reminder of where his sense of loyalty could have led him – away from her permanently.

"Out of duty for a member of the family. Fortunately, her heart steered her in the right direction."

"As did her butler. Even you lost faith in her choice as husband and she knew it."

"In that choice - yes. Thank the Lord for Mr. Crawley."

She smiled wanly, unable to force away the memory of Mr. Carson's stricken face as he entered her sitting room to deliver the shocking message of Matthew Crawley's untimely death. "Do you think he would have approved of the direction they wish to take now?"

"Probably. He was always the most keen to modernize and simplify, behind his mother, of course."

"Of course," she echoed. "And you? What do you think?"

Her comment about Haxby had diverted the discussion of the family's plans, allowing him to ponder his blessed Lady Mary – her mistakes and strokes of genius. When she let her heart rule her willful mind, she was a force to reckoned with. But he wondered whether her heart beat as one with the soul of Downton and its future viability. He recalled her attitude this afternoon. She could be heartless when driven by less redeeming base emotions stemming from grief or jealously. But her demeanor today as they further discussed the family's plans was torn – between securing a future for Master George, and holding onto the traditions that Charles Carson embodied.

But he wasn't all tradition. He was full of contradictions, like any human. Importantly, Charles Carson was in a state of flux as he reconciled his past with his present and future. "Do you know what I was thinking about when we returned from seeing Mr. Grigg off from the station?"

Confused by his seemingly unrelated memory of something occurring months before, Mrs. Hughes could only tilt her head to answer in the negative.

"I began to think of my time on the halls. The highs and the lows. I've spent most of my adult life trying to forget the pleasant moments – the roar of the crowd, the applause, the laugh you can get when you timed a bit perfectly."

"You might not have thought about it, but I imagine you use your talents from that period every single day." It was his turn to be confused. "The show of putting on a dinner or house party – it's all about playing to an audience and timing, is it not?"

"I suppose so," he conceded before pursing his lips. Perhaps she was right – his life as an entertainer probably did permeate his life as a butler in providing a memorable, enjoyable experience for the family and their guests. But this wasn't the thought that stuck with him following his uncomfortable discussion with the family upstairs.

His chin bent towards his chest as his eyes glanced upwards beneath his expressive brows. "There is one lesson I hadn't thought about again until this afternoon. There were nights where Grigg and I had to fill time while someone was struggling with a prop or their costume. They would tell us to stretch our act, so we did," he indicated as he placed a hand on his firm, lower thigh. Elsie Hughes had rarely heard about this time of his life from him directly – essential details were only conveyed after Charlie Grigg first came to visit Downton. She leaned in to hear more as his eyes grew unfocused, caught in recollection.

"There were other nights when we could almost do no wrong – our bits would work each time, getting laughs and applause. That was the trickiest part, though. Sometimes we would press our luck and try to improvise and keep the laughter going. If we tried to do too much, we would fall flat and the crowd would get restless. I'll never forget that tension – that awkward, hanging silence. It was almost worse than the whistling to rush us off stage. All of our work had gone to waste." He paused then, his large hand splaying over his thigh before tensing with his thumb touching his index finger.

"What I'm trying to say is, the lesson we learned was a hard one, but vital – how to end on a high note. We needed to know when to take our bow." Mr. Carson finally dared to look at her then, hoping their near-telepathy wouldn't falter in this moment.

She hadn't dared breathe, let alone move a muscle. Finally, she summoned a quiet, even tone. With fear and anticipation, she asked, "How did you know when to take it?" He was so close to a realization – perhaps he was already there.

"It was a feeling – an act of faith."

Charles Grigg's stealing from the till had trampled that instinct – that trust and confidence. Alice Neal's fickle nature ensured its hibernation. To top these early acts of treachery, the toll of servitude, war, and aging – all of it would have inhibited a lesser man's ability to act in light of those basic but powerful emotions.

Her eyes then lowered to observe his hand on his thigh, clenching and smoothing his livery trousers as he contemplated. "Would you know when to take a bow now, at Downton?"

He paused for a long moment before answering. He was about to make his leap of faith, his lowered chin and probing eyes telegraphed before he responded.

"I would need someone's hand to bow out properly."

At that, her eyes darted upwards as her chin lifted, contemplating the man before her. Since their day at the beach, Charles Carson had become incrementally braver with each passing week. She couldn't help the pride she felt in observing and playing a role in his quiet evolution towards this moment.

She reached for him then, forcing their knees to brush as her left hand connected with his right. He had closed his eyes in anticipation of their kiss, but she temporarily halted her progress. Emboldened by his courage, it was her turn to make a leap of faith.

Squeezing his hand with her own, she murmured, "When the time comes, you'll know where to find it."

* * *

As always, your written thoughts are appreciated.


	9. Mrs Patmore starts collecting

Following her first planning meeting with Mr. Carson and the family, it was decided that Mrs. Hughes and the butler would visit the Ashton estate together. They would more closely observe improvements that would directly affect the housekeeper, as well as the kitchens. After arranging a suitable date, Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes delegated their powers to Anna, Barrow, and Mr. Bates. Mr. Carson had happily decided to include the valet as a fitting foil to the under butler as punishment for his insolence concerning Mr. Branson. While the former chauffeur violated societal rules to become a member of the family, he was an integral part of the Grantham-Crawley family dynamic now. That was that and Barrow could like it or lump it.

The staff would naturally be curious about the simultaneous departures of the butler and housekeeper, but Ms. Patmore would likely give them an ear and bellyful to prevent too many pointed questions. Even though Mrs. Patmore was aware of the possible improvements that would restructure her kitchen, she had yet to be given specifics to incense her fully.

The dubious honor of informing the specific changes being contemplated fell to Mrs. Hughes. To soften the blow, Mrs. Hughes decided to repay part of the debt owing to the cook following her remarkable discretion after observing the deepening relationship between the butler and housekeeper. Over a late evening cup of tea, Mrs. Hughes commenced with her dual-pronged mission.

"It's been a long while since we had a cuppa to ourselves," Mrs. Patmore remarked before stirring in a bit of milk. As Mrs. Hughes smiled in agreement while settling into her desk chair, the cook continued. "You've been keeping some late nights locked away in here with a certain butler, I gather." Her gleeful look was hardly disguised as anything else.

Not ready to go down that path quite yet, Mrs. Hughes acknowledged her nights with the butler in part by discussing the proposed refrigeration and blender updates, as well as reminding her of tomorrow's visit to the Asthon's estate. Mrs. Patmore was more than suitably distracted by the prospect of new technology invading her domain. In this sense, even Mr. Carson was second to Mrs. Patmore in distrust of incorporating noisy technology that only spelled workforce reductions regardless of the reason behind the 'improvements.'

A new refrigeration system would require a change in how food was ordered and inventoried. While the friendship shared by Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore had only deepened over the years, through health scares and unbelievable marriage proposals, friction would always remain when it came to who controlled the store key. New technology would not change this. If anything, they would have to whether this storm together, despite both adding a bit of fire and brimstone to the already difficult situation.

Mrs. Patmore found the discussion almost too much. "I'm getting to old for this," she huffed upon setting her now empty cup back on the tray on Mrs. Hughes's desk.

"I can't say I fault you for that sentiment," Mrs. Hughes commiserated.

"So you're not pushing for any of this?" Mrs. Patmore had already guessed as much, but she wanted validation for her own trepidation.

"No, not I nor Mr. Carson. But this is life and the family thinks it is a way to stay afloat in the future. Mr. Carson had tried to guide them as much as he can despite…," Mrs. Hughes trailed off, afraid of giving away a secret that wasn't hers alone to share.

But Mrs. Patmore was too attuned to Mrs. Hughes after seeing the most unusual exchanges between the butler and housekeeper. Now was time to collect a bit of what was owed to her. "Despite what? I know he'd resist the changes. Does Mr. Carson want to retire?"

Mrs. Hughes had to tread carefully, not wanting to say too much on any given topic. Being honest, somewhat honest, was the best course of action. "Mr. Carson and I have discussed a great number of things over the past few weeks. I think it's fair to say he's evaluating his life along with the future of Downton."

Mrs. Patmore couldn't help herself, but she did try to be slightly less than blunt. She wanted answers and not glares, after all. "And where does his favorite housekeeper figure into his life?"

Despite giving an amused yet disapproving look, Mrs. Hughes was grateful for the cook's attempt at being tactful. "I will say one thing: it's becoming clearer," the housekeeper admitted with a shy but pleased smile before ducking her chin and taking a long sip from the cup still secured in her hands.

"Well, well, that Cheerful Charlie does have it in him."

Mrs. Hughes barely managed to avoid choking on her tea before giving the cook a reproachful glare. Her ire didn't last long, however, before dissolving into giggles shared with the roaring Mrs. Patmore.

They barely heard the knock on the door before the man in question entered the housekeeper's pantry with a nervous, guarded look on his face. Mrs. Patmore remembered herself immediately as he inquired after the ladies. She rose immediately and began removing the small tray from the desk before another word was spoken. Mrs. Hughes, in the meantime, had sobered in an instant.

"Not to worry Mr. Carson, it's high time I'm off to bed," she shared in a brisk tone despite the laugh that was bubbling close to the surface. Looking between the couple she was about to leave alone, she couldn't help herself. "But you should really live up to your name and cheer up our housekeeper," she managed as she hastily slammed the door shut on her way out. Mr. Carson stood speechless just inside the door, staring wide-eyed at a slightly flustered Mrs. Hughes.

"I didn't say a word!" Even though Mr. Hughes truthfully implored she didn't bring up his past, Mr. Carson wasn't entirely convinced nor was his discomfort allayed. He could only growl before taking a deep breath to steady his nerves. He wasn't there to fight despite enjoying the blush to her skin and fire in her eyes when they did have disagreements.

Now, she was already flush with embarrassment and he couldn't help but be beguiled. Recovering, Mrs. Hughes continued, "Mrs. Patmore merely guessed about us," she finally explained before rising from her desk chair.

"And what did you say in response," he asked as his discomfort decreased with each step she took closer to him.

"Only that things in your life, including Downton, were being evaluated."

"That was innocuous enough," he surmised. But she still looked sheepish.

"I think my smile gave us a way a wee bit," she conceded before gently gripping his lapels. He could only sigh and smile quietly in response as he welcomed her into a loose embrace. "Are you not upset," she asked before raising her head and chin towards his face.

Shaking his head, he murmured, "No, I'm not. I hadn't thought of it quite that way before. But yes, I am evaluating. I hope that we're both evaluating," he expressed with some hope.

"Yes," she agreed. "We are both evaluating – for Downton, and for each other."

His hand rose to her soft cheek at her affirmation. With each soft stroke to the cheek, he whispered, "My dearest friend. My dearest."

The night had finally brought the downstairs of Downton to a quiet close. No errant noise of bickering kitchen staff or footmen was present to drown out the delicate sigh of Elsie Hughes as pure adoration was showered upon her. She snuggled deeper into his embrace in response.

With her head securely placed under his chin, he shared yet another thought. "Do you know what else I don't mind of you telling Mrs. Patmore? Besides dividing her attention between blowing up about refrigerators and learning about us," he smiled at the vision of his plotting housekeeper before continuing, "You'll think me . . . sentimental."

Mrs. Hughes pulled away with wide eyes at such a confession. Whether he was aware of it or not, his sentimentality had been revealed to her incrementally over the years. It was incredibly endearing. "Go on," she said softly, careful to look at him with nothing but love and support. Her amusement at his bashfulness could wait a moment.

With a breath, he confessed, "Your smile giving us up a bit to Mrs. Patmore reminds me that this is. . . not a dream that will only lead to a cruel morning of false memories."

She melted.

"You are sentimental, and I love you all the more for it, Mr. Carson," she confessed herself. His smile, lighting up every feature, especially his eyes, was ample reward for her own frankness. It filled her with joy, but it did get the better of the normally unflappable housekeeper.

"Aren't you the Cheerful Charlie tonight?"

He scoffed loudly as his eyes, now wide with shock, disbelief, and a tinge of annoyance. Mrs. Hughes had stepped in it this time, or so she thought as she stepped away abruptly. A myriad of emotions crossed his expressive face, but Mrs. Hughes never expected the last emotion to surface at this moment.

"I am, but I usually am every night before dreaming of your shining face," he admitted with a crooked smile before securing her waist again.

It was Mrs. Hughes's turn to scoff. "Flatterer," she playfully admonished once she recovered in relief.

"Even when you sass me about my former life," he responded with surprising aplomb. His wit was something to be treasured. Coupled with surprising self-deprecation, he was nearly irresistible to her. "Are you set for tomorrow?"

She sighed again, forlorn that their professional lives returned to the conversation. "As ready as I'll ever be. Their laundry system does sound intriguing."

He hummed in agreement before releasing her. "I have a few more things to attend to before heading up. So, I'll say goodnight," he concluded before closing the distance between their lips. Over the weeks, their bidding of goodnight took more time and was conducted with lips too occupied to form mere words. It was something to which both were becoming enthusiastically accustomed.

But what they also increasingly and wordlessly craved was intimacy. It was beyond the obvious bounty of what marriage would bring them – things they felt in spades and wondered on in spare moments and in their lonely rooms. It was the art of merely being together without bells, without interruptions, able to reach and be reached for without wondering about a lock securely in its place or the time of day. Even in their morning spent in their meadow, time and their commitment to Downton was still present in the back of their minds.

Hopefully their trip to the Ashton's could provide a temporary respite by allowing the togetherness both so fervently treasured. It was that shared thought, conveyed with mere looks as Mr. Carson departed her sitting room, that would sustain them until they both feel asleep, cheerfully, in their solitary beds.

* * *

Your thoughts are craved and valued.

A/N: An Ordinary Afternoon made me lose my muse for this story for a bit. I think we're back in the swing of things. September is getting closer, after all, and I'd like to be done before S5 starts up again.


	10. In a Novel by Dickens

Despite the successful outing at the Asthon's, Mr. Carson could tell Mrs. Hughes was agitated at something. He could feel it with every step she took further towards Thirsk. Her agitation surfaced as they passed a line of cottages devoted to retired workers as well as a few favored groundsmen. It troubled him because he couldn't pinpoint a moment that he would have caused her discomfort. Perhaps something else was afoot.

The day had started well enough. Mr. Branson had insisted on driving them to the Ashton's estate before spending the afternoon attending to business in Thirsk. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes had insisted upon making the short walk from the estate into town to catch him at one of the local pubs. They would likely return with enough time for the butler to be dressed for dinner.

In truth, Mr. Branson wanted to show his respect to both butler and housekeeper. Once the source of great distress to Mr. Carson, it was becoming clearer they were on better terms despite the work they were doing. Mrs. Hughes had always been a second mother to Mr. Branson, telling him to mind his heart before losing it Lady Sybil and saving him from his grief and the vexatious ways of Edna and her imagined pregnancy.

The Ashton's butler and housekeeper had been welcoming. They were patient as Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes explored each aspect of their laundry system using new synthetic detergents that were slowly being incorporated into houses and laundry outfits all over London. The Ashton's housekeeper was eager to show the the detergent's superiority in cleaning soiled linens and Mrs. Hughes was impressed with the results.

They had dined with the staff, and Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson had observed the interactions between staff and the married couple with interest despite providing detached, indifferent edifices. The couple embraced changed with gusto, that much was obvious. But they still demanded and received immense respect from their charges. As they shared smiles and whispered conspiratorially to each other throughout the meal, it was like looking into a mirror for Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes. The staff didn't pay any mind as they traded inside jokes and comments about the running of the household. It was achingly similar to exchanges they often shared in the servant's hall at Downton. The only differences were age and the two shining rings adorning left hands. Mr. Carson had filed away the image, wondering if Mrs. Hughes had seen it, as well.

Now he wondered on her clenched jaw as they moved beyond the small cottages. Once they were on their own, he quietly asked if anything was the matter.

"Why should anything be the matter?" Her question was sharp, but it was as much directed at herself as it was to him. Perhaps she was being a silly fool.

"I couldn't guess, which is why I'm asking." He said it with such care, far removed from the authoritative voice he reserved for footman stepping out of line. He reserved this tone, dripping with warm honey, for times of giving aid - to her and the ones he cared for most at Downton. He didn't deserve stony silence nor a brewing secret. Since revealing her thoughts about why she held back about her cancer, she had promised herself to be more forthright despite it going against her nature.

"You'll think me silly, and I wouldn't disagree," Mrs. Hughes huffed.

"Well, I doubt you are. But, if you don't want to tell me, I'll respect that," he expressed as their walk slowed to a near crawl on their way to Thirsk. He made it too difficult to resist him when he employed pure candor.

"It felt like we were being led about by the Ghosts of Christmas Past and Yet to Come at luncheon today," she finally confessed. "Except we were looking at the way we could have been with another couple as an example - married and managing Downton together with our lives ahead of us."

After a long silence, he gently reminded, "I confess a similar thought crossed my mind. But I thought we weren't supposed to regret."

"I know what I said," she admitted with some mild agitation. "But my thoughts couldn't be helped apparently. The cottages away from the estate seemed to bring it all to the surface."

He wordlessly directed her to behind a large tree off the walking path as they both removed their hats. They were both not in a state to rejoin the world, let alone Mr. Branson, just yet.

"Even if I were to have the same regret, I'm not sure it would have done any good. It took me a long while to realize my love for you. We would have needed to walk hand in hand at the Brighton seashore decades ago to have any chance," he admitted in a self-deprecating tone.

She couldn't help but smile ruefully in response as she gazed across the thick of trees. Perhaps it was for the best that he never had a chance to answer her question about whether he ever thought of going another way.

But she froze slightly as he asked, "would you have been prepared for love and marriage all those years ago?" Despite her independence, being happily apart, alone, she could easily envision a life spent together with this man.

"For your love, yes. I've loved you for more years than I can say, Charles." She paused to look at him then, letting her revelation sink in. They both needed to hear that fact out loud, to let it be savored and valued. After all, it explained so much of her behavior - her tenderness and exasperating needling.

"As for marriage - yes, despite how the family may have scoffed at it. I would have accepted a life with you, the children we may have raised, and our jobs even if it required moving to London where it would have been more acceptable." It was a relief to not keep such thoughts bottled up inside, despite the possible shock they generated.

"Is this what you meant when you asked me about 'going another way?'" He could still recall the anguish on her face on that cool morning spent decanting wine. She nodded quietly.

It was Mr. Carson's turn to stew with regret. It was a lovely universe she pictured even if it required leaving Downton proper. Perhaps they could have managed Grantham House during the season, splitting their time elsewhere.

There would have been children with his chin, her cheeks, his fierce loyalty, and her cool head. They were the stuff of dreams full of regret and longing - ones that would overshadow caring for their ever-growing brood of upstairs and downstairs at Downton. Each needed their effective mothers and father away from home, whether they were aware of it or not.

A long moment passed with each lost in thought. But eventually, they both arrived at the same conclusion - it was futile to wonder 'what if.' There was enough uncertainty in their present and future. His most fervent wish had not diminished. Perhaps he could help them reach more solid ground.

"You've spent so much time tending to my worries and concerns. I would be remiss if I didn't repay your diligence," he admitted before drawing a steadying breath.

Turning to her with a hesitant but intense look on his face, he asked, "What would you want for us, now?" He had an inkling of what she might want, but he was her partner. They should be equals in this extended discussion regarding their future.

She froze. Weeks had gone by with the same thought bubbling under the surface of every sweet kiss goodnight. How she had become impatient with her pillow afterwards, wanting it to be replaced by a warm, bulky mass smelling faintly of aftershave and sweat following a long day - in his livery, or in the garden of their very own cottage. She didn't need him to achieve a blissful slumber. She wanted him, plain and simple.

She wanted him even when he blew hot and cold over some small infraction. She wanted him as he caught a few winks at the dinner table or sunken in his comfy chair, still in his livery. And she wanted him in the secluded wood with his eyes burning bright with regret, hope, and love.

"I would be lying if I said I never thought of marriage along with retirement. The simple truth is, I want to be close by your side, just as I always have been."

Her confession took only a few words, but he knew how much it meant for her to say it. His fiercely independent love was ready to embark on whatever path he could manage. It floored him.

"Perhaps we would be a little closer," Mr. Carson finally suggested with the same look he gave her when she asked him about courting Miss Neal. He was endearingly bashful.

He stalked closer to her, aware of their isolation from civilization. They had scarcely acknowledged their fierce desire for the other explicitly, keeping it well-controlled as they learned how to be more intimate in their respective offices at Downton. But here, they were conveniently alone.

"Perhaps we could be slightly closer now," she intoned like a siren bringing a sailor closer to treacherous rocks below. But Mr. Carson didn't mind being shipwrecked at her feet. She would catch him in a blissful embrace before he fell completely. Or perhaps he would catch her from her perch.

He hummed in agreement before finally reaching her lips hungrily. She was warmth and light as he lifted her gently in his arms, caught up in the moment as his hat dropped once again to the ground. She was shocked even as her own hat fell as she clung her arms around his broad shoulders before one hand mussed the silver hair at the nape of his neck. Her own neck welcomed the reprieve it was given as it usually was stretched to its limits in her bid to be closer to him. As the moments ticked by, her whole body responded as she felt his warmth and growing desire.

"Mmmm, Elsie," he sighed as he gently lowered her to the ground before embracing her yet again. She reached for his cheek as she separated from him slightly, laughing in wonder at his passion before he caught her lips for a few more stolen moments.

"I want to marry you," he confessed breathlessly as he moved to explore her neck. He couldn't keep the thought to himself any longer. "Whether we remain at the helm or retire, I want to marry you."

She was filled with bliss as she stared up at the branches of the glorious tree that kept them secreted away. She was overjoyed. And confused. Was he proposing?

"But…" she finally saw his face. Her butler was struggling with a thought. If his hands hadn't been otherwise occupied, she could imagine him wringing them at his sides or steepling them as he sat at his desk.

"But, you want to ask me 'properly,' don't you?" His shock soon dissolved in relief. How she knew him even when he barely understood her at times, let alone himself.

"I do want to ask you properly. I've thought of nothing else, at times."

"Nothing else," she asked in a slightly teasing tone.

"I think of you more than I have right to," he confessed as his lower jaw dropped slightly and shifted while in contemplation. "If his lordship knew how much, he would be rightly concerned about the possibility of me spilling wine in the lap of any member of the family."

Her shoulders hunched as her chin dipped before helplessly giggling. She couldn't help stealing a swift kiss. In truth, she was guilty of the same sort of distraction. "If her ladyship knew how often I thought of you, she would be surprised to find I ever ensured Mrs. Patmore had the right ingredients to prepare dinner each week."

They both chuckled at their distracted ways. It was a relief to know they were on the same page.

"My love, please remember what I said during the last time we were off like this," she implored.

"In our meadow," he finished with a smile to himself as he thought of his page of pressed flowers.

"In our meadow," she echoed with a serene smile.

"Don't be cloying?"

"And don't overthink this," she finished.

"I wouldn't dream of it, my dear," he chided. "But yes, I remember and have taken both requests to heart."

She nodded at his admission, secured by his intent to do things properly and still floored by his admission he intended to take an enormous next step.

Simultaneously, they both secured their hats. As they moved to return to the path towards Thirsk, they recommenced walking with an extra bounce as they headed closer into town. They were walking towards their future. Even the sun couldn't eclipse their brilliant prospects.

* * *

As always, reviews are appreciated more than I can say.


	11. Your Own Master

Carson had been delivering the afternoon post to the family when he stumbled upon an unexpected conversation between Lord Grantham and Mr. Branson.

Lord Grantham was seated at his writing desk in the library when he addressed his butler. "Tom tells me the Ashton's butler and housekeeper are married to each other."

Carson swiftly placed his free arm behind his back, twirling it as he processed Lord Grantham's words. It was clear his employer thought the whole business was a shocking secret for the butler. He took in a breath before responding with a deliberate lack of emotion.

"That is my understanding, my lord."

"Carson, were you shocked?"

The butler paused for a moment, giving thought not to his ultimate answer, but his delivery. "In the past, I may have, my lord. But it's not uncommon to encounter such an arrangement in London."

Tom traded a glance with Lord Grantham of shrugging nonchalance. Lord Grantham seemed to be slightly deflated by the fact that he failed to shock his staid butler. They had always been compatriots of the Old Guard. Though Robert Crawley was accepting of the technological improvements to be incorporated at Downton, not all possible changes to the way things were to be done sat well with him, at least not immediately. It made him think twice when Carson, at the very least, failed to shake his head in disapproval.

Unfazed, Carson continued. "Nothing seemed to be out of place or askew, despite their modernization projects. And it didn't seem to affect the respect each commanded in their posts by their staff."

"Well, that's comforting, I imagine. The Ashton's never brought up that fact while we were there, so I imagine they are accepting of their marital partnership."

Carson could only nod in agreement as his hand restlessly rattled behind his back. It was an understatement to say he was uncomfortable with the conversation.

"Downton could survive such nuptials," Mr. Branson offered out of the blue while studiously avoiding the likely shocked glare of the butler. He had always suspected something more was occurring between Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes. Their demeanor when they reunited in Thirsk during the previous afternoon was most telling. He had caught them unawares as they strolled through town. He observed a calm joy about them, something only a secret of shared love could evoke. Tom Branson remembered the feeling with bittersweet acuteness.

"It's a new era, certainly," Lord Grantham responded without too much reproach before continuing in an almost joking tone, "but I'm not sure if Carson would…"

Before Lord Grantham could continue, the Dowager Countess entered the library in search of Lady Grantham. Mr. Carson had never been more grateful for her self-assured manner that, at times, dominated the house even when she no longer presided over it as lady of the house. "Carson, I know tea is on its way, but I could do with a glass of water."

He bowed in response before asking if Lord Grantham needed anything else.

"No, Carson, that is all." He left the library before catching the uneasy eye of Tom Branson. While he didn't narrow his eyes at the former chauffeur, he did fix him with an appraising look before returning downstairs.

To avoid a chance of continuing the conversation of married butlers and housekeepers at Downton, Mr. Carson had Molesely return to the library with the requested glass of water.

* * *

The servant's tea was as ordinary as any other, filled with cheerful voices and the dragging of chairs across the stone floor as staff members quickly rose to finish last-minute tasks before the family began dressing for dinner. All of this was lost, however, on Charles Carson. His mind was focused on the discussion before the family's tea.

"I don't think Carson…"_would be interested in marriage at this time_. Lord Grantham had obviously begun to say something of that nature, thinking the not-so-young Charles Carson was beyond the age of marriage. Better still, he probably thought his butler upheld tradition as much or more than any landed gentry. But Charles Carson would want to be married. He wanted, wished, and prayed for it with every fibre of his being.

He shook his head slightly at the memory of telling her of his fervent wish to marry Alice Neal. His youthful love was real, but it couldn't compare with what he felt for Elsie Hughes. The slings and arrows of life had made her all the more precious to him - precious and earthy and alive. She was no dream of misguided youth. She was the best of every phase of his life - past, present, and future.

As he mulled over thoughts of marriage and their brief moments in the woods the day before, he watched her interact with their staff during the servant's tea. He observed her restrained smile as she listened with interest to her maids. Her eyes were bright despite the dimming light of early evening. She was so inherently good - the patient listener who also had high standards for serving the family. He tried not to stare at her widening smile as Anna chimed in with some helpful advice, revealing the dimples below her beautiful cheekbones.

He could picture her in even dimmer light - not in their offices, but in a quiet cottage like the ones they passed by on their walk during the previous afternoon. In his vision, she was sitting in her robe with her legs curled on a sofa, darning socks. Her curves were no longer hidden behind a wall of whalebone. He ached to reach out and feel them as he sat near her in chair next to the sofa, at the same angle as their chairs in the Servant's Hall. The book he endeavored to reread was forgotten, open but face down on his thigh, as he watched her in the firelight. She was his home. As the thought dawned on him, so simple and yet so overpowering, he was shaken out of his daydream by her inquisitive look in his direction.

She could tell he was in another world - somewhere full of wonder. He deserved to have some kind of diversion following an action-filled day. She let him remain there for a while and tried not to steal too many glances at him, choosing instead to converse with their staff. But she couldn't ignore his unfocused yet intent gaze after his right hand began to move in her direction across the table. How she wished to reach out to him, but her pointed stare into his hazel eyes was enough to shake him from his reverie.

"Later," was all he needed to whisper to assure her he would explain his quizzical behavior.

Her half smile, lifting only the left side of her mouth, was always a welcome sight. It was a secretive and assuring thing that usually would go unobserved save for himself. It would carry him through the dinner service until they could be safely alone that evening.

* * *

"Were you thanking the Lord for the Dowager," Mrs. Hughes asked after he relayed the odd exchange between butler, Lord, and Agent over sherry that evening.

"Believe it or not, I was grateful for Mr. Branson for raising the issue. However, the Dowager had perfect timing. As much as I respect his lordship, I'd rather us figure out our plans on our own before becoming the subject of family conversations."

Mrs. Hughes immediately understood the gravity of his statement. He had nearly wrote off a lifetime in service of a man and family that only provided for the best for him because his favorite Crawley daughter needed his help. He had pushed for resignation over an issue that had occurred decades ago because it could have caused a few awkward weeks for the Crawley family. Now, he was putting them before the family. It wasn't an act borne of selfishness. Instead, it was well deserved upon learning, after dedicated service alongside his rock and closest confidant, the stunning realization that a strong and vibrant love was alive and shared between them.

The thought of Lord Grantham assuming Carson would never want to marry, while an assumption of his lordship's feelings, increasingly annoyed Carson as the evening wore on. He had seen the possibility of serving a family while also serving a wife and their marriage the day before. Though it would likely change him, he heartily welcomed some of the changes even as his collar tightened at the mere thought of them, many things could likely stay the same. At any rate, this was one decision that would not be dictated by the family. The form and timing of his wedded bliss might be made in light of the family, the ultimate decision to marry was between butler and housekeeper alone.

"I appreciate that," she responded in a quiet and gentle tone. She couldn't help her serene smile as she admitted, "I'm so proud of you."

He squinted his eyes and pulled his head back, slightly confused by such an admission. "Proud?"

She turned her head for a moment, trying to summon the right words before answering his questioning look. "Proud of you becoming your own master. You've commanded your post for decades here without fault. What we are and where we might go won't diminish your devotion to the family - our family," she confessed. It was a relief to see he registered that she finally regarded the Crawley's as part of her own brood. In truth, downstairs as well as upstairs figured in their complicated family tree of ever-growing roots and branches.

"No it won't," he agreed. "But my devotion seems to be redirecting itself to a certain member of the family."

The silence that followed was filled with an atmosphere, but Mrs. Hughes didn't mind it. She remembered that tension-filled moment in which he expressed the Crawleys were all the family he had. It was an overwhelming sensation to know how much she figured in his estimation, now. Their eyes glimmered as they held each other's gaze, bodies warming with a heat that filled every pore of their skin, centering low on their torsos.

"And I will never abuse that devotion," she promised with a voice thick with emotion.

One of his shoulders dipped involuntarily, signalling his discomfort at her response even as he inwardly welcomed it. He usually followed such an action with a comment that typically cut the growing atmosphere using a heavy-handed manner. But he surprised her.

"Who said I was talking about you?"

Her jaw dropped slightly before she settled a strong but not steely gaze upon his twinkling eyes. "Daft man," she barely managed to utter before he silenced her with a teasing kiss. His rumbling chuckle was music to her ears and a delightful sensation on her skin as the night wore on.

So caught up in one another, neither butler nor housekeeper heard footsteps or the sound of paper on stone as someone slipped a note under one of the butler's pantry doors. Having already locked up for the evening, Mr. Carson didn't discover the missive until the following morning. He slept blissfully unaware of yet another change affecting Downton and his role as butler.

* * *

Hugs and kisses to you all - for your comments, follows, favorites, likes, reblogs, messages, and readership. I wouldn't have made it this far without you and your support.

As always - your thoughts are highly welcomed and valued. Please share them if you have the time.


	12. The Follies of Haste

Slight S5 spoiler alert if you count using dialogue that has yet to be given any context.

* * *

"_He did what?_"

Mr. Carson shifted uneasily as he reaffirmed the contents of the note to his employer just outside the dining room.

"Like a thief in the night," Lord Grantham glibly surmised. Mr. Carson could only give a knowing look in agreement.

Lord Grantham continued on into the dining room, surprised to find Lady Mary along with Mr. Branson at the table. Though a widow, she often took breakfast in her room just as her mother regularly did on slower days. But today she was to join Mr. Branson on the other side of the estate after breakfast and was looking expectantly at her perturbed father.

"Barrow has upped and left for London without any notice," he briskly announced to his daughters and son-in-law.

"Did he leave any clue as to why and where he's gone," Lady Mary asked as she glanced at Carson.

"Apparently, my lady, he is to become butler for a bachelor industrialist living in London," the butler explained.

"So he's moving up in the world," Lady Mary concluded.

"And perhaps, finally, that means he will not be returning to Downton." Although Lord Grantham had ensured Thomas had stayed in his employ, for cricket of all things, he couldn't ignore the man's general smarminess. His wife's praising of Barrow for tipping her off about that odious nurse caring for the children wouldn't budge him from that thought."What will this mean for you, Carson?"

"I will manage, my lord. He was training to be a butler in his own right. Although I heartily protest the manner of his parting, I am not surprised."

"Nor am I really," Mr. Branson couldn't help but include. Thomas had been a thorn in his side since the beginning of the season. His open hostility towards the former chauffeur's new role in the running of the estate had made what was supposed to be a tranquil spring and summer into a prolonged exercise in feeling decidedly out of place. In doing so, Branson had uncomfortably occupied an environment that never sat well with him as a member of the extended Crawley family, even as he contributed to its continued vitality.

Mr. Carson bowed in response, acknowledging in part his awareness of Barrow's thinly-veiled insubordination when it came to the estate agent.

"But surely that won't mean hiring another underbutler," Lady Mary shrewdly calculated.

"Not hiring an underbutler, but perhaps another footman, my lady," Carson answered truthfully. Standards were to be upheld, and that required another lad to aid in putting on the grand show of a dinner or high tea.

"Nothing is set in stone, Mary. But, let's discuss this after breakfast," Lord Grantham advised as two footman entered the room carrying more platters of warm food. Lady Rose had also quickly entered the room. Now was not the time for an extended discussion.

_Nothing is set in stone_. The words echoed in Carson's ears as breakfast continued. For some reason, he dreaded the discussion that was to come.

* * *

Following the conversation with the family after breakfast, it was clear the life Charles Carson had grown accustomed to living was not permanent. After hearing how the family intended to handle forthcoming departures by lower-ranking staff members, he couldn't help but express his surprise at the family's welcoming of staff reductions generally . Though he secured the existence of some posts for the near future, others would simply be eliminated in the hopes of technology picking up the slack. While this would likely affect Mrs. Hughes more than himself, as it related to cleaning, kitchen, and laundry matters, it disturbed him nevertheless. When he relayed the conversation to Mrs. Hughes before lunch, he couldn't help sounding weary.

"More than ever, Mrs. Hughes, I feel a shaking of the ground I stand on," he said with an urgent, searching tone. He continued helplessly, "I could possibly handle the equipment and improvements they are planning, but..."

"Staffing has always been where you've drawn the line. I know." Of course she remembered. She had nearly yelled at him as he insisted Anna act as a proper lady's maid while trying to balance the post-war problems of maintaining a properly staffed downstairs army of maids and footmen. But she was truly concerned now as she had listened to the family's approach to staff reductions. While his concern was the honor of Downton, she focused on Mr. Carson, however linked the house and butler were. He would be separated from the stones and mortar of Downton – at retirement or death. When it came to Lady Mary's comments on the matter, she was less than surprised when she finally inquired after them.

"Lady Mary was calm about it all. She said that 'the nature of life is not permanence, but flux,'" he recalled with the slightest tinge of sarcasm.

"That was rather sage of her. Has she been taking lessons in oratory from you," she leveled with a raised brow.

Mr. Carson could only fix a less than amused stare at Mrs. Hughes. She often poked fun when he made similar comments. He should have expected no less when Lady Mary employed similar turns of phrase. But now, this was serious.

_Flux._ Despite her amusement, Mrs. Hughes dwelt on the word. Although she was game for the changes – she could endure them all – was it a state that she wanted to endure with Charles Carson? He might grin and bear it all. He might become undone when the real changes begin to affect his precious dinner parties. Or he might throw in the towel and move into a cottage away from the Abbey.

Her own thoughts on the subject were more decided. She would stay or go, but only with him by her side. Even while living under the roof of the Granthams, she had always felt she was her own master. Falling in love and possibly marrying Charles Carson wouldn't change that, for as she lived her own life along side of his, she had always kept his best interests in mind. For now, she would wait for Charles Carson to evaluate and keep evolving. They would get there, eventually.

Bursting through the uneasy silence, he confessed, "I don't I believe I can be apart of this, Elsie. I will inform his lordship this afternoon."

Or they might get there now.

Her eyes widened and glanced at her closed and locked door before answering. He never addressed her by her given name in the house. Not even when she was head housemaid. She had been Miss Hughes. It was thrilling and discomforting to hear his strained whisper of it now.

"Charles, don't be hasty." She had never anticipated his evolution to becoming his own master would involve something this cavalier. This was the reawakened man of passion speaking. She wasn't sure if she could help guide him in the right direction.

"This isn't hasty, Elsie," he mutedly barked with exasperation. "I would never be able to serve them in the manner that I have for most of my adult life. It would never do for me if they are to make Downton run with a permanently skeleton crew. It would feel like I was constantly wearing a collar that was too small for my neck. There would never be enough hours in the day." _For us, for our time_, his eyes pleaded with her to understand.

Her head shook as she observed his struggle. "But would they accept this now that Thomas skulked off into the night?"

"They will have to accept it," he declared obstinately. He was beginning to pace about with his wringing hands, completely lost in his own stewing anger. He didn't observe her own restless hands, nor her lowered gaze in search of something, anything to halt his misguided progress.

"Charles," Her clipped brogue stopped him before he transformed into an irate butler that would tear into any number of hall boys that got in his way this afternoon. He appraised her with agitation.

"My dearest," she softened before continuing, rooted in her place near her desk. "I want this as much as you. I'm at a time in my life that I would like nothing but to live for you and with you alone," she confessed before swallowing, hoping it would stave off a rush of hot tears. His anger appeared to wilt slightly at her confession, turning into a thoughtful, longing gaze as she proceeded.

"But if we are to retire with the option of living in a cottage on the grounds, of remaining on good terms with the family during our dotage, we have to do this properly. Don't you want to do this properly?" As much as she loathed his pompous use of the term over the decades, that concern was paramount now.

_Properly._ The root of that word always seemed to steer Carson. But by what star was he steering himself now?

A knock on the door cut through the tension. "Mrs. Hughes, is Mr. Carson with you? Mr. Bates said he was looking for me."

"In a moment, Mr. Molesley," he lumbered with deliberate accuracy to aid in dampening his still-present agitation. He opened the door and directed Molesley further. "Please wait in my pantry. I shall be with you shortly. We have a number of things to discuss."

Closing the door once more, his eyes closed tightly as he heard her pleading whisper, "Please, Charles. Promise me you won't do anything hasty today."

His chin sunk to his chest before opening his eyes again and answering with his back still to her. "What I will do right now is promote Molesley to underbutler, as discussed this morning. I already don't have time to do as I wish."

"And what is that?"

"To take you to our meadow and lay on our sides in a sea of wildflowers. To kiss you until we rob ourselves of air to breathe."

Elsie Hughes felt her whole body flush at his confession. Her cheeks surely tinged with a growing blush. Her tongue was thick as she responded, "And you think I don't want that, as well?" Charles Carson turned his head sharply to gaze on her. "Without any guilt or second thoughts of how we left Downton - this afternoon or forever? Do you think I don't want our own cottage with our own fireplace and our own bed?" She stalked closer to him, observing the fierce reddish tint growing at the tips of his ears. She could see his chest rise and fall with hollow breaths. She could even divine his toned calves as he rocked on his feet. It was cruel to say all of this in the middle of the day - but he set her body ablaze. And he needed to know this wasn't a fairy tale to her. This was real - the possibilities and the problems that faced them.

"I want all of that and more, Charles Carson," she whispered as she nearly grasped his trembling hand.

"Please, my darling," he pleaded with a pained whisper as he hastily moved his hand out of her reach and stared straight at the door that was inches from his face. "If you touch me now, we will never leave this room this afternoon and Molesley will never be promoted to underbutler. And that will make for a most improper transition." He had to keep his gaze away from her even as he rotated his head in her direction. He couldn't take her eyes bearing down on him for a moment longer. He couldn't drink in the appealing curves of her waist and narrow ankles. Even in anger, over this whole business of Thomas and a planned reduction in staff, he couldn't help but think of her wantonly. His whole world was starting go up in flames. If this was where his life was heading, he wanted to burn brightly - with her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

His head now resting desperately against her door, he whispered, "I'm not." A few moments passed before he heaved a few steadying breaths. He left without another word to spend the afternoon beginning Molesley's vigorous training, the issue of hasty actions about retiring left unresolved. Charles Carson had left a discombobulated and amorous housekeeper in his wake. She would remain so until that evening.

* * *

I'd certainly like you to do so, but drop a line if you feel so inclined. P.S. Happy early birthday to Jim Carter! I might (if inspired) have another chapter for his actual birthday tomorrow.


	13. Clearing the Fog of Haste

His scraping chair and the rise of his imposing frame sent their staff to their feet after an eventfully uneventful dinner. He left the Servant's Hall without a thought shared between them during their meal. At first, she thought he was merely trying to restrain himself. After all, he had nearly come undone as he held fast to her door that afternoon. She had thought she had known his every demeanor (well, nearly all, as the full extent of his passion was likely waiting for her). But he poked at his dinner, inexplicable and unknown to her.

It had a chilling effect on the heat building within her throughout the afternoon. How she had looked forward to dinner, her hand itching at the prospect of caressing his knee and hand under the table. She had wondered on it with some deliberation. But his demeanor as he had sunk into his seat postponed any chance of playful intimacy.

He had been disturbingly opaque - not exactly angered or sad or endearingly preoccupied. In truth, this opaqueness combined with his behavior earlier today - exasperating and alluring as it was - set Mrs. Hughes adrift. It wasn't a feeling she welcomed. The last significant interlude to bring her this much unease involved the conflicting emotions evoked by trying to understand the ways of God. She couldn't fathom why He had spared her of cancer while ending the life of a bright, vibrant young woman with a wee bairn and grief-stricken family in her wake. It wasn't hers to reason why - but she had wondered, just as she did now.

The young and misguided Charles Carson, she envisioned, had left Downton full of passion, impulsivity, and willfulness. The older but no less willful Charles Carson was slightly less misguided. After all, his insistence on informing Lord Grantham of at least his retirement was meant to benefit her and the life they wished to share together. But it would be too much, too soon.

Even in his absence, Thomas Barrow had managed to pull one over his betters, but Charles Carson was apparently having none of it.

Mrs. Hughes could only swallow her wine with deliberation to mask her growing malaise as she remained at the dinner table.

* * *

Molesely and James shared a confused look between them after Mr. Carson strode out of the family sitting room. The butler had instructed Mr. Molesley to oversee the family's nightcaps. Mr. Carson would secure the precious serving ware later. Now, he needed a moment to himself, and so he quickly moved past the green baize doors to seek solace in isolation.

Mrs. Hughes had lingered in the Servant's Hall, sharing tea with Mrs. Patmore as the other staff drifted in and out of the hub of downstairs. Daisy had breezed through the room, mentioning James had been prattling on about the Season upon bringing down one of the larger trays of discarded food for the evening.

"Why would he talk about that now," Mrs. Patmore asked.

"Lady Rose couldn't stop talkin' about it at dinner tonight. Do you think I'd join you in London for the whole season, Mrs. Patmore?"

Mrs. Hughes had quickly tuned out the younger cook, letting the two settle the matter on their own as she watched a blur of grey, tan, black, and white move quickly from the stairwell to behind his office door. He had marched single-mindedly into his office, seeking out nothing and no one.

Even as the two cooks droned on, she could hear the faint click of locks being turned. Enough was enough, Mrs. Hughes thought. But she couldn't simply march to his office and demand entry right away. Mrs. Patmore was likely to have observed the chilly atmosphere between butler and housekeeper at dinner. Although an ally, Mrs. Patmore would have had too difficult a time holding back a pointed comment in front of Daisy and anyone else in earshot.

Instead, she was forced to listen about the Season. Even memories of a certain walk into the ocean couldn't cheer her spirits. The Season, whether or not it was to play a role in their future, symbolized months without him in the flesh. The reminder furrowed a deep wound in her soul, compounding the emotional separation she felt from him this evening. The combined mass settled oppressively over her, making any polite conversation impossible.

Perhaps she was being a silly old fool. But she couldn't shake herself from the feeling – not in the Servant's Hall. So, she forced herself to beg off civilly from the two cooks before willing herself to purposefully tread to her sitting room. The cool quiet and dimness it offered was supposed to calm her. Instead, her isolation quickly reminded her of the desolate feeling that descended when he left for months on end.

Or was she sillier for spending those months seeking out reminders of him at any turn? Over the years she fashioned many means to cope with his absence: her extra pillow, seeking out the faint smell of him that lingered in his leather desk chair, even the strong silver polish used by footman left behind to assist her in serving remaining family members. They were no substitute for his flesh and blood, his expressive face and soulful eyes. But the hint of recklessness he displayed this afternoon was not the man she knew. It was silly to question everything with one glimpse of a weak moment, she knew that. She needed to see him – to reassure and be reassured.

As much as she wanted to reach out to him, to see if the talk of the Season could help explain his stoic silence at dinner, she listened with growing agitation for signs that their staff was finally heading off to bed. Until then, she looked upon their shared wall, deep in thought. As Charles Carson had changed over the months, giving and showing more of himself, the wall that separated them had slowly fallen away, brick by brick. But after today, the wall seemed to be as solid as the physical separation between their offices. Murkiness had descended upon them like the one that kept the moon from shining on this bleak night.

* * *

Much later, Elsie Hughes found the closest pantry door to her own office unlocked. He hardly registered her entrance into his pantry, choosing instead to stare out the window closest to his desk. Charles Carson was absolutely still but for the steadying movement of leaning his right hand on the small hutch under the window. His shoulders were dipping with a decided slump. Charles Carson didn't lean. It was a worrying sight.

She surveyed the room - lit by only a few lamps, as usual, at this time of night. Elsie Hughes had always enjoyed the delicious, intimate duskiness it would create. The silver cabinet was secure; all his doors save the one closest to her office appeared locked. He had been waiting for her, she presumed, but his ungraceful stillness fazed her.

Elsie Hughes would be patient - close, but patient. She moved behind his desk to stand to his right, joining him as he gazed upon the darkening night. The moments passed before he finally roused himself. He eventually straightened, his arm returning to his side, no doubt taking in the warmth of her next to him. They both were relieved to find their hands soon entwined.

"I wouldn't mind ending more days like this," he muttered quietly as he looked towards the starless night.

"Gazing at a clouded sky," she asked lightly, but the gentle squeeze of her hand was all he needed. He drew a deep, noisy breath in response.

"You must be tired," she concluded after a long moment, trying not to sound transparently conciliatory. Or motherly. "Did training Molesley go well?"

"His bookkeeping, if a bit rusty, is far better than the skill Thomas possessed not a day before leaving us in the lurch," he said with some venom.

"Thomas was about show," she offered, drawing out each 'o' as she spoke in low tones.

"Mechanically, yes, but even then there was no…" he searched for the right word for a moment before looking down at her and giving a squeeze of his own. "There was nothing genuine about Thomas - towards his fellow man or our family."

Though there were things Charles Carson could never understand about Thomas - things that explained his distrusting aloofness and smarmy facade - it was a generally accurate assessment in the housekeeper's eyes.

He went quiet again as his left arm rested behind him. Though his hand was out of sight, she could feel its small, twirling movements subtly rock his body until she felt the movement in her own hand. Something else was bothering him. Perhaps it was the Season. Or perhaps it was akin to what bothered her all afternoon in uncomfortable yet welcomed desire. She ventured to reconnect them to that heady moment in her pantry. Perhaps one word would do it.

"Charles."

The small but distinct jerking of his body rocking backwards and the hasty breath he drew let her know she reached her target.

His voice was a quiet, rumbling force when he finally addressed her. "I meant what I said before, Elsie. What I intend to do isn't hasty."

Elsie Hughes had apparently not hit a bulls-eye. She was in the periphery and needed to take aim again with caution. "I disagree, Charles…"

He raised his left hand to stop her in quiet askance as his right gently dislodged itself from her grasp. He remained near her but apart, still facing the window.

"What I intend to do isn't hasty at all. It was brought on by serving this family for decades - with devotion, honor, pride, perhaps some exasperation, and certainly some wonder.

"That Thomas departed when he did, however, doesn't change my belief that where this house is headed would not be helped by my standing at the helm. It would hurt them, especially if they tried to bend and accommodate my views about staffing."

She remained quiet, letting his reasoning sink in. She didn't disagree with it, only his timing worried her.

"Moving on now is all the more vital. Mr. Molesely, if he is to become butler, needs to be settled in his post by the time the Season comes around. Whoever might take your place needs the same time, as well. The Season is looming in the distance, thanks to Lady Rose's untimely reminder at dinner tonight."

"Lady Rose is a young spirit," she reminded in a smooth, velvety tone. "I'm not surprised she brought up the Season. And it's not like we are not indebted to her."

He looked incredulously at her for a moment before the thought dawned. "We owe her a magnum of champagne when she finally settles on a suitable suitor. But it will likely take months. Months away from here." _From you_.

She bristles, trying to summon some sort of logic that would help stave off the feeling of despair the thought elicited. She didn't need him to be at a similar low. It might drive him to hasty action in the morning.

"That's not new," she remarked neutrally.

"But it is new," he said with renewed fervor. "It is - now that we're, well, where we are now," he complained uncomfortably.

He was right, of course. If they stayed in charge – married or patiently waiting for their day in the sun – she could find a way. It was unlikely the Granthams would agree to sending Mrs. Bute to tend to Downton Abbey so that Mrs. Hughes could join him London, after all. She would be forced to endure his absence. She always did. Perhaps she would have him leave some of his pomade behind. He would look at her strangely when she asked, but it would be something to keep her senses filled with him as she fell to sleep at night. She doubted he would have agreed to letting her keep a set of his unwashed pajamas.

So caught up in her meandering thoughts, she turned to find the comfort of his desk chair. He had never actually seen her sit there, but knew she must have while they conversed over the phone during the Season. It was a strange sight to him, but it stirred his soul nevertheless.

After turning to seat herself in and rotate the chair towards the window, she gasped at the sight that greeted her. Charles Carson was kneeling before her.

"Yes," she breathlessly answered his unasked question with no hesitation. His incredulous look almost sent her into hysterics. The tables were turned – she could hardly control herself now.

"I'd just as soon ask you, my darling."

Biting her lip, she recovered with an embarrassed smile. "Of course." He was proper to a fault. Beautiful, insufferable man licking his lip before taking a deep breath.

"I meant what I said earlier. This is how I want to end my days. It's how I would like to begin them – on our own time, in our own bed – with you by my side." The heat of the afternoon began to return in spades at the thought, mixing with the tension of the evening.

"I've always needed your steadying hand even before you offered it to me in Brighton." He finally stretched his right hand towards hers, offering it just as she did at the beach.

"Elsie Hughes, I would be a privileged man if you took my hand now – to steady and be steadied. Will you do me the honour, my dearest friend, and become my wife?"

Hot tears pooled in her eyes as blood coursed through her veins. She could hardly hear his deep voice finally asking that blessed question as her body reacted to the moment. It wasn't a surprise, but it was so decidedly genuine that it took her breath away.

"Yes, Charles Carson," she gasped as her vision blurred from unshed tears. "I will take your hand. I will always take your hand," she managed before launching forward to catch him in a fierce embrace.

The haze had begun to clear – the wall had started to crumble.

* * *

Elsie Hughes realized the risk of sleeping while wearing the shining expression of Charles Carson's love should someone send for her. But she couldn't help herself. No moon or stars would allow her to see his ring in the dead of night, but she could feel its round, strong shape encasing her finger. It made her feel secure, alive, afraid, excited, loved, desired, and a thousand other feelings that made sleep a mere afterthought for a long while. Following a heated negotiation between kisses, the ring could rest hidden in her glove box tomorrow until their love could shine brightly in the light of day.

In the meantime, her extra pillow was well and truly squeezed as she thought back on their eventful day. Theirs was a topsy-turvy world of tension, desire, despair, and triumph, created in part by their individual evolutions and means of adapting to change. But they had come home to each other, to the warmth of a joyful embrace, and that is what mattered.

She smiled indulgently into her pillow, thinking about the warmth that had turned to heat before they finally parted his pantry. She had willed him to rise from the stone floor out of concern for his bad knee, offering his chair to him. But he had surprised her by moving the chair as far back as he could manage before sitting on his desk. The waiting lips of Charles Carson had become much more accessible as he pulled her towards him, his legs spreading as she moved ever closer.

It was a strange and thrilling position, to find him nearly her height, to be that close to him. She had wondered on touching his leg, his thigh, all afternoon. Now she could soothe his sore knee and run her hand along both firm, strong legs as much as she dared. All thoughts of propriety temporarily left her when his arms snaked securely around her form and his lips descended hungrily.

Though they managed to part before becoming positively indecent, her hair was in complete disarray. No amount of readjusting it in his office could save it until she was able to pull each and every pin at her makeshift dressing table before braiding it and slipping under the sheets of her solitary bed. She was not ashamed of looking completely unkempt even as he whispered his apologies for making her appear as undone as they both felt. They both, somewhat put back together, descended the stairs in a triumphant state before parting.

When exhaustion finally ushered her to sleep, her dreams reflected her joyful state.

* * *

Charles Carson could envision her blissful face as he reclined on his own bed. He appeared to be relief in repose. The resurgence of his impulsivity failed to result in disaster. He had secured the hand of Elsie Hughes, not for a mere afternoon in the sun and surf, but forever.

He couldn't help but grin in the darkness at the impasse over the ring – his mother's – he offered from his trouser pocket when they finally took a moment to regain their breaths. He felt it only proper to offer the ring that had weighed down his trousers and his mind as the weeks since he confessed his love ticked by. While she agreed to accept the ring, her sensibility, of needing to keep the ring out of sight until the time was right, waged against him.

She had softly intoned his given name as she leveled him with one of her imploring looks. He was lost, but he made her victory pleasant for them both. "I surrender," he growled, before she did the same. His lips descended on her once again, exploring with reverence the lips, mouth, and tongue that deliciously rolled the 'r's' in Charles Carson. He shivered pleasantly at the thought.

The way the ring shown brilliantly on her finger, even in his shadowed office, was something he would likely never forget. He would have to wait until the time was right to see her wearing it yet again. The memory of the warmth and light of their increasing entropy reawakened his impatience. He could feel every fiber of his being coming alive in desperation – to hold that hand, to see the ring on her finger, glimmering in the light of day before God and everyone. Before no one but themselves and a waiting bed.

He had never promised her to proceed without what she thought was haste – to act with caution. He would respect her, till his dying day. But it remained to be seen what the future would bring for Charles and the soon-to-be Elsie Carson.

* * *

Drop a line if you can - I wait with bated breath... (without the lovely, snarky Carson-sarcasm)...

P.S. I would be remiss in not admitting Jean and Lionel of As Time Goes By didn't influence part of the proposal scene. Elsie and Jean are both independent ladies, after all.


	14. Laying the Groundwork

Hugs and kisses to you all for your support. I mean that sincerely. Last chapter was a bear and I thank you for making it to the end (and hopefully enjoying their "understanding"!). Next stop: a dialogue-centric chapter. It had to be done. Another update may be up later today (U.S. timezones).

* * *

Elsie Hughes inwardly congratulated herself and Charles Carson. They had managed their first breakfast following their betrothal admirably. Despite the inward elation both felt, they knew instinctively that each should attempt to act slightly morose to mirror their demeanors at dinner during the previous evening. Otherwise, even a quiet but elated smile or stolen glance would tip off the perceptive Mrs. Patmore. There was nothing shameful in their engagement, but it was part of a larger plan that not even Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes had settled with any formality. Their wordless decision was the only thought they shared at breakfast before he rose to begin his official workday.

She had denied herself the ability to stare at her own left hand throughout the meal. She would have sworn, if she did, to see the imprint of the ring she had worn all night. It now waited impatiently for her in the glove box until the time when all would know she would soon become Mrs. Elsie Carson. And as Mr. Carson rose from his chair, she willed herself not to stare at his retreating figure, which is why she was surprised to hear his voice when he called out for her. "Mrs. Hughes, could you spare a moment later," he asked with some formality.

Hiding her mouth behind her tea for a moment as a shiver went down her spine, she answered neutrally, "I can spare it now, Mr. Carson."

"That is very good of you, Mrs. Hughes." He stood waiting with his hands behind his back to prevent him from reaching out to her as she neared. It was imperative his behavior signaled nothing beyond professional regard towards her for the while. Instead of heading into his pantry, he led her to her own sitting room before closing the door.

"Well," she sighed as he quietly locked the door. "One breakfast down, countless others to…" She would never finish the sentence. A most amorous Charles Carson silenced her with a breathless kiss.

"Good morning, my dearest," he breathed against her now rosy, shining lips.

"Good morning," she murmured in reply before pulling away slightly. "I thought you disfavored such high spirits at breakfast."

"But we're no longer at breakfast, are we," he asked wolfishly as his eyebrows rose swiftly.

She couldn't help but smile at his mirth. "I suppose not."

"Believe it or not, I actually did want to discuss something with you as opposed to spending the morning locked away with you." They both held their breaths, recalling how he managed to avoid locking them away for an afternoon in this very room. Though they were now engaged, such feelings were still overwhelming, and would likely remain so even after exchanging vows.

Eventually, she gently extracted herself from his embrace, and, for once, he was grateful for the separation. She settled into her desk chair while he occupied the closest chair next to her side table for yet another productive chat.

* * *

"I didn't approach this well, yesterday. I admit it. But I do feel it is time to take my bow." He looked at her tentatively then. "Will you take it with me?"

"Did you learn nothing when I said yes to your proposal? I will always take your hand. I meant that." She sought out the hand that was resting on his knee and squeezed to punctuate her response.

"I know, but, we weren't exactly seeing eye-to-eye about other issues yesterday."

"We weren't," she agreed. "But it was the matter of the timing, not the destination that bothered me." She could see relief blossom on his face and the tension in his shoulders lessen slightly. But there was more, and his lower jaw moved perceptibly to one side as she continued on. "I don't want to wait a year to marry or retire. We've waited a long time to acknowledge what we have. But our retirement should not be done with haste. If we move too fast, it might not be retirement. It could be infinitely worse."

She had a point, he had to concede. They could sack them both if Lord Grantham was outraged at the thought of his older butler intending to marry a slightly younger housekeeper before they asked to retire and remain on the grounds as the estate underwent a massive transformation. But Charles Carson had the beginnings of a plan to stave off a disastrous discussion with the family. He began gingerly, choosing his words carefully. "I have a compromise to offer on that score."

"Oh?"

"What if I informed his lordship that I would like to retire after the Season?" her mouth opened at the thought. Elsie Hughes didn't want to spend a year waiting to marry this man, nor did she want to run off like a thief like Thomas or O'Brien. And she certainly didn't want to endure months without him, not anymore.

"And before you answer, please let me finish. I could offer to retire after the Season with the condition that Molesley oversee Grantham House while the family was in London. That way, he could become accustomed to running a smaller house completely on his own as acting butler to the larger family, and we could become accustomed to a slower paced life, together."

His compromise did have its merits. And faults.

"But that's months from now," she commented with a wave of her arm. "And what about my replacement?"

"We could begin the search for one as soon as you announce your retirement on a similar timetable. And you could train her during the Season without being distracted by last-minute guests or dinner parties." She nodded her head in understanding. It was beginning to sound appealing, very appealing.

"So we return to the question of when to inform them of our retirement and our marriage," she contemplated with a growing smile. "And how."

"I would like to speak to his lordship privately."

"And I should do the same with her ladyship."

"But that will make for an awkward discussion of marriage," he concluded. They appeared to be at an impasse.

She surveyed the room for a moment before a thought dawned. "Perhaps the issue of retirement can be raised incrementally."

"What do you mean, incrementally" he asked as he pulled his head back in confusion.

She knew that incredulous, unmoving tone well. She knew to begin gently. "We could raise the possibility of us considering retirement, separately, so that they might adjust and grow to accept the idea without rancor," she explained before continuing. "They are making so many changes to the house. Having us leave before their plans are set in motion might be too much for Lord Grantham and Lady Mary to process in one go." She had a point, he couldn't deny it.

He raised his hand in excited thought and she couldn't help but smile at his fervor. "Suppose I propose that many of the physical changes to Downton take place during the Season? Mr. Branson has mentioned that as a possibility. That way, I could oversee the changes to their satisfaction while we make a life together, in our own cottage. We could marry before the family departs for the Season."

"A winter wedding," she contemplated, willing herself to become excited at the prospect. It was akin to him insisting the staff visit the Crystal Palace. In truth, as close as the Season felt regarding their staffing problems, it felt an eternity away when it came to their own nuptials. It was disconcerting. The needs of their profession and their needs as man and woman warred with each other at the idea.

She observed his tentative glance at her, his chin dipping as he looked nearly afraid at her final assessment of the thought. It was somewhat like the thinly-veiled look of distress he gave her while he waited to hear whether she would be marry Mr. Burns and leave him and Downton in a desolate state.

"Or a fall wedding," she offered with her eyes fixated on his face – assessing. A fall wedding could mean days or a weeks, far better than the months separating them from a winter wedding.

He was hopeful, she could tell by the slight rising of his eyebrows and torso. "How do we manage that?"

She looked down at her restless hands in her lap before raising her head to level with him. "You must trust your instincts to raise the possibility of retirement with his Lordship at an appropriate time. After an interval, to see how they respond to the idea and to make alternative arrangements if things are not received warmly, we make our final announcements of retirement and marriage."

"It would move up the timetable of training our replacements," he mulled. "But that wouldn't necessarily diminish my willingness to help oversee the improvements being installed if things go well," he said with an unfixed gaze towards her desk. His devotion to the family did not simply end even as a life spent together with Elsie Hughes beckoned. There was no other way with Charles Carson, and she accepted it.

Another thought dawned. "But if we are to rely on my instinct, when will that give you an opportunity to speak to her ladyship?"

"I will go to her immediately following your discussion with his lordship." He didn't appear convinced, but Elsie Hughes didn't have time for much more discussion this morning. Her internal clock was warning her that she needed to make her final rounds soon.

"I trust you, Charles," she implored as she stood before him with her hand caressing his cheek. "Just listen and wait for the right moment. Trust your own instincts that served you well in the theater and in serving this house and this family. Then you can set the scene so that we may take our bow together - soon." He sighed in wonder. She made it sound so simple. And it was, yet so potentially fraught with peril. Still, they now had a plan, and he would stick to it as best he could manage.

"Since when did you become theatrical," he asked with a teasing note to his voice.

Knowing they could not stay behind closed doors for much longer, she swooped down to kiss him swiftly on the lips before heading to exit her office. She leveled a playful, daring look over her shoulder for a brief moment before opening the door. As she turned her head back towards the kitchen, she finally replied in an almost sing-song, mocking tone. "I get about, Mr. Carson, I get about."

She didn't need to turn around to see his exasperated but delighted face in response. She already knew it was there.

* * *

Drop a line if you can. These two were quite chatty this chapter - was it too much? Let me know!


	15. Mr Carson Takes the Stage

The discussions for Downton's new era focused, for the following week, on changes to the greater estate. Charles Carson simply lacked an opportunity to raise the possibility of retirement and his transition plan.

Finally, he was asked to rejoin the discussion between his lordship, Lady Mary, and Mr. Branson one morning in the library before luncheon. They discussed their priorities for upstairs and downstairs improvements, finally developing a logical course of action that fit the availability of funds for a given time. Their conversation eventually turned to timing and when the major changes to the house would be installed. As expected, Mr. Branson successfully lobbied for the Season as the most appropriate time to implement major improvements.

At last, Charles Carson had a window to introduce the topic of possible retirement naturally. But alas, he had the wrong audience. Charles Carson had promised himself to raise the issue when Lord Grantham was alone. But he needed only be patient for a few more minutes. Lady Mary was due to leave with Lady Grantham at any moment for luncheon at the Dowager House and Mr. Branson would likely seek out his young daughter.

The meeting eventually came to a conclusion, with James entering the room to provide a helpful reminder of the time. Lady Mary was a bit surprised that the meeting had drug on, causing her to nearly miss her mother and their waiting car. Meanwhile, Mr. Branson had quickly excused himself to tend to Sybbie in the nursery before her lunch. Much to Charles Carson's satisfaction, that left Lord Grantham to settle in at his desk in the library before his own luncheon was to be served. But a cough from his butler prevented him from becoming too engrossed.

"My lord, I wondered if I could have another moment of your time."

"Of course, Carson." The earl observed his butler as he waited expectantly. He could tell something was weighing on his mind.

"I'm not sure how to start, but I must say that I have been privileged to serve the family for most of my life," he began.

"As am I, Carson. We would be lost without you." The butler bowed his head slightly in response.

Before Charles Carson could reveal his plans, Mary rushed through the library to grab her nearly-forgotten scarf. After giving her apologies, Mary stopped in her tracks. Her fiercest supporter, outside of her flesh-and-blood family, was looking decidedly off-kilter. Something was amiss about him. Mama and Granny could wait a moment longer.

"What's going on," Mary asked in her haughty, imperious tone.

"I was just saying that we would be lost without Carson."

"Indeed we would, papa," she remarked as her demeanor softened. Slightly. She too now waited expectantly for the butler to continue.

Their candor only made it more difficult for Charles Carson. His hands swung helplessly by his sides before the right moment slipped away from him completely. The speed of his entropy leading to his future life with Elsie Hughes was being controlled by other forces if he didn't act now. He could feel the awkward, hanging silence beckoning if he waited any longer. It was time.

"I'm not sure if I share your sentiment, my lord, my lady, especially as it relates to the extent of the changes you anticipate making in the future."

Father and daughter fired cautious glances at each other before Lady Mary responded. "But you've helped us in exploring the possibilities of incorporating changes. You've come up with several initiatives."

Carson bowed his head for a moment before responding. "Indeed I have, my lady. But it is one thing to discuss changes to the structure of Downton. It is quite another to actually accomplish what the family envisions in the way of running the household on a reduced staff in the near future." Robert Crawley was rocked to his heels at the implications. But his butler continued on, explaining himself.

"Remaining as butler could prove counter-intuitive to what your ladyship, your lordship, and Mr. Branson are trying to accomplish for ensuring the future of Downton. While I have worked for most of my life to anticipate and serve the Grantham family's needs, I do prefer conducting things in a particular way to honor the family, I'll concede."

Despite his barely-checked alarm and anger, the earl had to concede his butler's faithfulness. "And I appreciate that, more than I can say, Carson." Lord Grantham turned to contemplate the imposing hearth of the fireplace for a moment, unable to meet the gaze of butler or daughter.

Carson had tried to fall on his sword in honor of Downton when that theatre fellow forced him into stealing from the kitchens. It was admirable, but unnecessary then. His reasons for stepping aside now were uncomfortable. They were nearly unthinkable, as unthinkable as a married butler and housekeeper were to Lord Grantham a few weeks ago. But his butler's reasons were, Lord Grantham could already concede, dreadfully accurate in their logic. That didn't mean he had to accept it immediately or with grace.

Robert Crawley had fretted over the initial financial costs of transitioning into a new era for Downton. And all along, his butler was thinking and anticipating his needs. Carson raising the possibility of his own retirement placed the emotional cost of ushering in a new era at Downton at the forefront of Lord Grantham's mind. _Emotional cost_, Lord Grantham shook his head at the thought. What an American idea to consider.

At that moment, Lord Grantham's American wife stormed through the library entrance closest to the front door. "Mary, we will be late to your grandmothers." But Lady Grantham looked inquisitively on the obviously uncomfortable trio in the library. "What on earth is going on?" Cora Crawley was uncomfortable herself at the prospect of being tardy for luncheon with her mother-in-law. Some things never changed.

But her daughter was unwilling to answer. Her husband would have to do. "Robert," she demanded. She should have looked at Carson, who by now was expressing all of his discomfort with the opening and clenching of both hands by his sides.

Robert, on the other hand, looked positively perplexed. "It would appear that Carson is retiring, Cora."

Her face full of shock, the lady of the house advanced towards the butler, asking, "Carson is this true?"

"Well, I was raising the possibility of retirement, your ladyship. Not immediately, but in the future. In fact, I wanted to discuss with his lordship the possibility of a transition period."

"Transition period?" Lord Grantham's bleak thoughts faintly brightened at the thought.

"Yes, my lord. In light of our earlier discussion about implementing major structural improvements while the family is away in London, I thought I could stay behind and oversee the changes along with Mr. Branson. He would be free to travel back and forth to London for family occasions during the Season. Mr. Molesley could serve as butler on a trial basis. He could begin managing affairs for the family in a house of much smaller scale."

Lord Grantham began to visibly relax at the prospect, despite the ultimate conclusion that Carson intended to step down eventually. "Well, that does seem logical."

"Logical, yes, Robert. But that doesn't change the fact that Carson will be leaving us," Cora lamented.

"I've not decided anything with great certainty, my lady," he expressed with visible unease. He did intend to retire, and to marry, but introducing both ideas in the same breath and with finality would have caused a sensation. He pictured the warm smile and shining ring on the finger of the Scottish housekeeper that would become his wife. She would certainly express alarm at the atmosphere created by divulging both secrets.

This type of subterfuge never came easily to Charles Carson, however. Lady Mary could spot that, he could already surmise, by the way her eyes eyebrows raised at differing intervals. "This is a new world in which we are embarking," he continued. "Several avenues are being explored and I felt it would be remiss to not inform you of my own deliberations."

Lady Mary finally found her voice. "Does Mrs. Hughes know of your possible plans?" Mr. Carson's mouth had opened involuntarily while his eyes widened in response. He had not expected the question because he had never anticipated the growing audience to what he thought was his own show with a single audience member. Still, he had to answer.

"She does, my lady. We have had some discussions on the matter."

Lady Mary would have dropped her line of questioning, but the butler had uncomfortably rolled his shoulders and grimaced. He was leaving something unsaid and it didn't sit well with him. What's more, Tom had told her of the strange conversation of married butlers and housekeepers. Tom as much as hinted that he thought the pair were fond of each other – professional, but unmistakably close. Lady Mary couldn't resist seeing if Mrs. Hughes could be enlisted as an ally to ensure Carson would stay. It was as good a time as any for the stubborn daughter and steely yet warm housekeeper to join forces.

"And what are her thoughts? She has never been one to shy away from a challenge." While Lady Mary had never really seen eye-to-eye with the housekeeper, her pluck being almost too familiar to her own characteristics, she could appreciate the ability of Mrs. Hughes to adapt at a moment's notice.

"Mrs. Hughes is not one to shy away, my lady." He inwardly congratulated himself for not grinning at the thought of her. He relaxed as a result, perhaps too much. "However, retirement is its own challenge after a lifetime of service. It is something we have both evaluated in detail. Like myself, I'm not sure if Mrs. Hughes will stay on at Downton indefinitely." Before the words were out of his mouth, Mr. Carson knew he had said too much. _This is what happens when you leave something to chance_, he chastised himself in reminder.

Despite her silence, it was clear Lady Cora was completely taken aback. _Elsie, please forgive me_, he thought desperately.

A swift and noisy opening of the door halted the conversation as James strode in. "Pardon me, your lordship. The Dowager House rung for her ladyship and Lady Mary to inquire if they were joining the Dowager Countess for lunch."

Cora could only raise her eyes to the heavens before looking aghast at her husband. Robert could only shake his head before Cora responded to James. "Please call the Dowager House and tell them we are on our way."

The footman quickly retreated, leaving the door open. Before Lady Grantham passed Carson, she placed her hand on his forearm. "This is a shock, Carson. A true shock. I expect his lordship and I will need to discuss things before dinner," Cora concluded. He could only bow his head in gratitude. "And please ask Mrs. Hughes to find me upon my return from the village."

"As you wish, my lady." At that, Cora Crawley strode out of the library while fixing a loaded look at Robert. Mary followed in her wake. As the oldest Crawley daughter began to close the door to the library, Mary couldn't help gaze upon her rock – her butler – with a lost, questioning look. Charles Carson knew their conversation wasn't concluded on the matter.

When the door finally closed, Lord Grantham moved to end their discussion, desperate for some time to contemplate his butler's revelations. "Lady Grantham is right – we need to discuss the matter further." The number of interruptions combined with the numbing prospects that faced him prevented true contemplation of what his butler and now his housekeeper intended to do. He concluded the discussion with some magnanimity despite the feeling of abandonment that pervaded him. "I appreciate your forthrightness on the matter."

With another bow, Charles Carson inquired whether anything else would be needed. "A stiff drink, Carson, but I can get it myself," the earl responded with a brisk tone.

"Thank you, my lord," he concluded before shutting the library door and ensuring James saw to the women as they headed for the Dowager House.

His woman - he nearly choked on the brazen, absurd thought - would need to be informed of the latest turn of events. For some reason, he doubted she would be surprised at the comedy of errors that played out while he tried to keep control of things. Elsie Hughes always seemed to manage moments of discomfort far better than he could, despite her abhorrence of atmospheres. He prayed fervently that one didn't descend upon Elsie's sitting room when he broke the news. But he also fretted over the likelihood she would likely encounter one upon meeting with Lady Grantham this afternoon.

The worrier in him often overrode any sense of logic at times, especially when it came to how the family might react to something new and sensational. Throughout his tenure, he had followed his sense of right and wrong when relaying important matters to the family. Often, it was a matter of full disclosure. But other occasions warranted protection. Uncomfortable as it made him, he faithfully attempted to protect them by telling just enough to ensure a matter was resolved without any sensibilities being offended.

But when it came to his future at Downton, and hers, he couldn't hold back too much for too long. They were too close to achieving their shared wish. Charles Carson hoped that Elsie Hughes would share his view and forgive the premature divulgence to her ladyship.

* * *

A/N:

Thank you for your comments for the last, chatty chapter. I may not have responded to everyone yet, and I intend to do so. Guest reviewers - thank you for your comments, as well! As I trudge closer towards academic life (the joy and the horror!), I will be frantically trying to wrap up this story. We're getting there, but wanted you all to know that the updates might pick up while the reviews responses might fall off until the very end.

Your thoughts, however, are treasured. So, thank you, and keep sharing them!

P.S. Mrs. Hughes took a little break here, I realize. But, she'll be in the thick of it next chapter! So, Stay tuned!


	16. Perspectives on Projection

Left alone before luncheon, Lord Grantham paced restlessly along the length of the library. Eventually, he came to a halt near the exterior library door leading to the grounds of the estate. He surveyed the outdoors in deep contemplation. The blanket of blue sky over the hill leading to one his favorite woods was threatened by a patch of gray clouds approaching in the distance, filled, no doubt with an afternoon shower. But would the coming rain be cleansing, or would a storm wreak havoc on the estate and village? The comparison to the future retirement posed by his butler and housekeeper was almost too much for the earl.

All of his patience was used by the ordeal that just played out, causing him to avoid an outburst that so often occurred when his wishes were defied. Carson's thoughtfulness, however, could not be denied. He wanted the best for Downton, as much as the family members charged with tending to it until their dying days. That he saw the best for Downton served by his departure, a man not too much older than the earl himself, evoked unsettling thoughts about Lord Grantham's continued struggle over allowing Mary and Tom to have an increasing say over the future of Downton. Their decisions, in effect, brought about Carson's departure, however gradual he proposed it to possibly be. He doubted Mary would come to the same conclusion.

Lord Grantham thought back to the conversation. It had been exceedingly difficult on him, but he could see it was difficult on his butler, as well. It was a minor consolation.

He sighed. It was time for that drink.

He would get it himself with the acute awareness that, in the future, Carson might not be there to tend to it for him. He grimaced painfully when the thought of the butler's absence hit him just as the liquor burned his throat.

* * *

Charles Carson encountered a beautiful, Scottish housekeeper in her sitting room. He savored the moments before he just knew she would transform into a justifiably livid but spellbinding Scottish dragon that put fear into the hearts of her housemaids. And himself. When he finally revealed his folly, he was startled by her expected yet fierce whisper as she emphasized each low vowel.

_"You did what?" _

Charles Carson wanted nothing more than to dig a whole under the stone floor in Mrs. Hughes's sitting room, never to be seen again. He wanted nothing but to avoid her eyes, now a pair of orbs of thunderous darkness. He could hardly fathom the fearsome energy that caused her small frame to quake with what he could only conclude was rage. While he usually secretly thrilled at the sight of an angered Mrs. Elsie Hughes, today was not one of those days.

If he hadn't been so worried for his well-being, he would have found the color on her cheeks most beguiling. Instead, he had to live with the fact that he had summarily ruined their best laid plans. Mr. Carson could only begin recounting the entire, ridiculous comedy of errors in the hopes she would find it in her to forgive him. It didn't look promising.

* * *

As his story played out, she watched him with a guarded face. It was the same expression she wore as if she were critiquing a young housemaid who wasn't pulling her weight and on the verge of being sacked. She observed his slumped shoulders, his lips alternating from pouting to being set in a worried line as he imparted the details to the disastrous encounter. He looked a defeated man. No amount of soothing comments, even if she could provide them, would console him in this moment.

It was infuriating, almost, that the inferno that rose up within her immediately upon learning Lady Grantham had been informed of her possible retirement immediately dissipated at the sight of an endearingly contrite Charles Carson. As his story went on, she immediately could grasp the absurd humor of it all. Mr. Carson, it was obvious, had yet to find anything amusing about his morning.

"Mrs. Hughes, can you ever find it in your heart to forgive me?"

He looked truly broken as he occupied the chair closest to the door. He had no clue that he had already worn down the last defenses of Elsie Hughes. It reminded her of the afternoon he came to her door, watching her ready her hat while wondering if he was a sad old fool for acting high and mighty after hiding his life as a performer. With him in such a state, she would never be able to stay angry when he looked that handsome and humble.

More than anything, she was grateful to have at least a moment's notice to prepare for her own impending conversation with her ladyship. She paced about the room while considering how she would address Lady Grantham. He was inconsolable for the moment, that she could tell. She let him stew for a few moments more as she prepared herself for Lady Grantham.

_Poor man_, she finally thought, _perhaps it's time to put him out of his misery_. "Mr. Carson," she began quietly but sharply, his bowed head rising immediately at the harsh tone. He might never have been roused from his melancholy without her fierce but lilting voice. He held her gaze for a long moment saying all he could not with mere words.

At last, her stern demeanor dissolved as she held her hands away from her sides, palms facing her deflated betrothed to entreat him into her embrace. She observed, with warm eyes shining with love, his troubled façade dissolve into incredulous relief. It wasn't long before her arms were full of his bulky warmth, her nose full of his unique scent.

"I'm sorry," he kept whispering as he nuzzled her hair, neck, and cheek.

Following a few frenzied moments, she echoed, "I'm sorry, too." After all, she did propose the concept of broaching retirement with the family in phases while leaving him with the unenviable task of taking the first step. "I asked you to embark on a nearly impossible mission. What happened couldn't be helped. I only regret that I couldn't have been hidden away in the library to observe the chaos unfold."

He pulled back from their close embrace to observe her teasing yet conciliatory look. He had already set aside the fact that she did indeed suggest he broach the idea of retirement first. Instead, he couldn't help the smile that tugged at his left cheek nor check the look of wry amusement on his face. The woman in his arms, who agreed to marry this silly, not-so-old fool, was not "his woman." She was his fiercely independent partner that chose to stand by his side - in work, in friendship, and soon, in marriage.

Elsie Hughes half-expected to hear a teasing remark about an "atmosphere" she would actually enjoy, or the glorious sound of his laughter - a sound she treasured. But another treasure came forth as he sobered at the undeniable pull of a simple, yet overpowering feeling.

"I love you."

He said those three small words with conviction and wonder, almost as if he was saying them for the first time.

She could only caress his face, tracing the lines made by the growing return of his crooked smile. Leave it to her towering, tenderhearted love to think she wouldn't be able to forgive his transgression. She finally responded with a wordless declaration of her love filled with forgiveness and soothing tranquility. Sometimes words were useless in the face of unmistakable actions.

* * *

_Later that afternoon._

While tending to the kitchen store with an unsurprisingly feisty Mrs. Patmore in her wake, Mrs. Hughes was not startled by Mr. Carson's sudden presence in the doorway. Lady Grantham had returned from the village and was ready to speak, the butler imparted without a hint of emotion. But Mrs. Patmore was intrigued by the fact that she couldn't identify the look that then passed between butler and housekeeper as they both exited the kitchen area. Mrs. Patmore promised herself that she would press the housekeeper for more information when she could find the time.

In the meantime, a most preoccupied butler lingered at the bottom of the stairs, unaware of the diminutive cook observing him worriedly watch the housekeeper trek up the stairs. Mrs. Patmore quietly prompted after seeing if any hangers-on were about, "Is there anything I should know?"

The butler did a double take towards the cook before looking sharply at his own feet. "In due time, Mrs. Patmore," he mysteriously offered without bothering to wait for her reaction before retreating behind his pantry door. Mrs. Patmore could only huff before returning to the kitchens. "I think Mrs. Hughes owes me more interest," she muttered under her breath before continuing preparations for the staff tea and family dinner.

* * *

Elsie Hughes found Lady Grantham in her rooms discussing this evening's attire with her lady's maid.

"You rang for me, my lady?"

"Mrs. Hughes, I did. Thank you, Baxter. That will be all until the dressing gong."

As the door was shut securely, a most disappointed lady of the house inquired whether her housekeeper was considering retirement.

"Is this true?"

"I'm afraid it is, ma'am. I'm only too sorry that I wasn't able to raise the possibility with you directly."

"But you've always been keen to incorporate new ideas," Lady Grantham implored as she rose from her dressing table.

"Be that as it may, your ladyship, this many changes could probably be incorporated more fully if both housekeeper and butler weren't tied down by the way things have always been done in this house for several decades."

Lady Grantham looked questionably on her housekeeper. Mrs. Hughes selflessly served the family through strife and illness – others, and her own brush with a life-threatening illness. But something was nagging at her about her housekeeper's countenance and the fact her equally devoted butler decided to impart the possibility of both of them leaving.

"Nothing has been settled, of course. Mr. Carson and I have both discussed our roles as Downton transitions into a new era, including the possibility of retirement. Mr. Carson probably wanted his lordship to have all the facts," she explained as if she were merely discussing the linens. Or so she hoped.

"I knew there was a reason I didn't want to attend luncheon at the Dowager House today," Lady Grantham admitted wryly. Mrs. Hughes could only provide an obligatory but not mocking half-smile in response. In reality, she held tried to maintain an intentionally blank façade throughout their exchange. It was part of what made her so effective at her job. Carson, while professionalism oozed from his every pore, couldn't always prevent his true thoughts from appearing on his face, especially after the Dowager gave a piece of her mind. He might have given her more to go on had she been present for the entire exchange between Robert and Mary, as well as continuing the conversation instead of leaving for the Dowager House.

Still, Lady Grantham had to concede the housekeeper's thoughtfulness about ensuring the future of Downton was likely behind her possible decision to step down as housekeeper. But there could have been something else.

"You're not feeling ill, are you," Lady Grantham asked with a look of true concern.

Mrs. Hughes willed herself not to bite her lip as she felt some guilt for causing Lady Grantham to be worried over her health. The lady of the house had been unreservedly understanding during the dark days awaiting the housekeeper's cancer test results once Mr. Carson had gently informed her.

"No, your ladyship. I am in perfect health, but I am touched by your concern," she concluded, gulping at the thought of the conversation they shared a few years ago, sitting and standing as they did in this very moment. "As I said, nothing has been settled regarding my possible retirement, or Mr. Carson's."

"Is there something in particular that bothers you about the changes, Mrs. Hughes? We are all trying to adjust."

Mrs. Hughes couldn't very well confess her undying love for Mr. Carson in the moment, although she wondered whether Lady Grantham might actually be receptive to the notion. "Mr. Carson and I discussed the sheer extent of the changes. In doing so, I thought of how many capable, hardworking girls help run the laundry and kitchens. Figuring out how to do without them will likely be a headache for myself, as well as you, my lady. My way of doing things might undo the good work that the family is trying to accomplish." She shifted her eyes slightly away from Lady Grantham at the thought of her betrothed. "Mr. Carson feels the same way about maintaining the standards that the family and guests regularly encounter at dinner, tea time, or whenever a party is held." It was true, essentially, but not the overriding need that compelled them to retire.

Cora Crawley couldn't help but contemplate the thought of Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes carefully and privately considering the issues that faced a new era dawning at Downton. How often Robert would fret over the same problems with Cora as they laid together in bed. It wasn't surprising that the two who ran their house with such devotion over the decades would have similar conversations. She had heard of them sharing a sherry before the end of the day from scattered conversations with various lady's maids over the years. Lady Grantham wondered how close they had actually become. "I can understand your concerns, and his lordship and I do share them. That both of you may be retiring simultaneously has taken us by surprise, you see."

"That was not the intention at all, my lady. Alerting you of the possibility was meant for us to converse as we are now and for you to contemplate options with his lordship and the family."

"Mary in particular will certainly have a something to say about Carson's retirement," Lady Grantham surmised. _The uppity minx would have something to say_, Mrs. Hughes couldn't help but think. The questions were, however, what would be said and how Mr. Carson would react to his favorite of the Crawley daughters.

Cora Crawley could only look away in thought for a moment as her housekeeper continued. "If our discussions lead to more definite decisions, my lady, I along with Mr. Carson will be sure to keep your ladyship and his lordship informed in the future."

Something was still amiss to Lady Grantham, but Mrs. Hughes would probably remain opaque if pressed further. She let it pass, for now. "Thank you, Mrs. Hughes. Please see that you do."

Mrs. Hughes began to turn towards the bedroom door, but was stopped by Lady Grantham's voice. The lady of the house stood in the center of the room now, filled with purpose, as well as unease. "I have not discussed this business with Lord Grantham, but I will not let your loyal service to this household be forgotten in our conversations, Mr. Carson included. It will inform our every thought, painfully so."

She dipped her chin at Lady Grantham's promise, grateful that at least one member of the house would enter the discussion mindful of the steadfast devotion the housekeeper and butler gave every day to the Grantham family. "That is most generous, my lady. I will inform Mr. Carson and await the family's thoughts on the matter." At that, Lady Grantham sat thoughtfully on her divan while giving leave to her housekeeper.

After closing the door to Lady Grantham's bedroom, Mrs. Hughes heaved a heavy sigh as she headed back to her sitting room. She was, in part, relieved. Lady Grantham could have expressed far more disapproval over the housekeeper's desire to transition into another phase of her life, albeit for the good of Downton.

But as Elsie Hughes passed through the main gallery to the green baize door, she unconsciously held her breath. Lady Mary was striding from the library to the main staircase. The dark, troubled look on her face as she briefly caught the housekeeper's eye meant only one thing - nothing in life, including the wish to retire gradually and gracefully, is sure.

* * *

A/N's:

As always, your thoughts, readership, likes, and reblogs are most appreciated. And as noted in previous chapters, my responses to your reviews will likely be slow until we reach the end of the story (otherwise, we may not reach the end of the story!).

The chapter title was meant to convey a couple of concepts related to projection: Mr. Carson's own self-projection of his insecurities and anger with himself relating to how he thought Mrs. Hughes would react to his blunder, as well as how Lord and Lady Grantham are/will struggle to conceive of a Downton not run by their faithful butler and housekeeper. Sorry for the over-explanation (possibly), but it had to be done.

P.S. The story hit a major readership milestone last night - I can't tell you how humbling that is. Thank you, truly.


	17. Ambush

Mr. Carson quickly strode into the sitting room of the housekeeper, drawn to it by the fact that the door stood wide open even though he had observed her close it not a half-hour before. No trip to the village could have occurred that quickly. Instead, he was greeted with another important woman in his life.

"My lady," he expressed with some surprise. "How can I help?"

"I appear to have missed Mrs. Hughes," Lady Mary responded with a chill to her voice.

"Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore went to the village to secure some last-minute minute supplies for the dinner party tomorrow evening. They recently departed but should return in due time," the butler explained.

"Well then, perhaps we could chat," she said with a forced brightness while looking pointedly at the door. Though Mr. Carson had been in the housekeeper's sitting room without her occupying it on several occasions, now he felt like an unwilling trespasser.

After securing the door, Mr. Carson answered, "Of course, my lady."

Lady Mary quickly addressed the matter. "Are you serious about retiring, Carson?"

The butler took in a steadying before placing his hands behind his back and answering, "I am, my lady. As much as it pains me to cause the family any unease, I felt it would be the best in light of the ultimate vision to keeping Downton thriving and intact." Lady Mary couldn't dispute his logic – he was a man of traditions, much like her father, but he was her fiercest supporter outside of the family. Even more so, Lady Mary couldn't shake the feeling of abandonment his retirement evoked.

"And you couldn't call on me for counsel," she demanded. Though she was younger, and frequently unwise, her shock remained unabated. While others in the family had to come to terms with the thought of Carson leaving once before, she was the only member of the family that had stood to benefit by his departing for Haxby. The whole business put her in unfamiliar territory.

He was at a loss for a moment. As she waited for him to respond, Lady Mary critically appraised every surface of Mrs. Hughes's sitting room. She took in the warmth and memory likely behind every knickknack, the fine embroidery on the tablecloth adorning her side table, and the elegant details decorating her china collection. But the housekeeper, at once familiar in her forthrightness and diligence in serving the family, was still foreign to her, somehow. "It appears you had other counsel," Lady Mary surmised with a narrowing of her eyes.

Mr. Carson immediately bristled at the manner in which Lady Mary had characterized Mrs. Hughes. His arms, still firmly planted behind him, shook slightly as he willed himself to stay calm as he responded. _Counsel._ The term itself perfectly encapsulated how they helped each other throughout their lives at Downton. Lady Mary, however, had no means of understanding how Mrs. Hughes encouraged him to be a better butler and person. She would know now.

"I sought out and received quite capable and impartial counsel, as you so put it," he intoned in a low, formal tone. "It was the same selfless counsel that helped me to come to the decision to transfer to Haxby after serving this house and this family for most of my life," he leveled, letting the reminder sink in. Lady Mary's half-step backwards and uneven rise of her eyebrows was enough to let him know the memory resurfaced. Though it pained him briefly to remind her of that low time in both of their lives, it was unavoidably necessary.

In her shocked silence, he continued. "I provided counsel, as well. Neither I nor the person providing me counsel let my misgivings affect the direction in which the family intends to take Downton even as it causes me great unease."

His regard for Mrs. Hughes as well as his agitation with Lady Mary was acutely palpable to the Crawley daughter now. But Carson was not to be interrupted.

"I did not let my alarm at your approach to staffing reductions result in tendering my resignation on the very day it was first introduced. The counsel I sought and received ensured I didn't act with haste. She ensured I acted in quite the reverse, if you must know, my lady."

His point made with startling yet still restrained vigor, he looked away from Lady Mary. She remained silent, still reeling from the string of stinging truths. As he provided her an opportunity to process his thoughts and possibly respond, Charles Carson began surveying the familiar surroundings, finding solace on every surface over which his eyes roamed. It was calming to him, being surrounded by the presence of Elsie Hughes even as she walked unawares to and from the village. The vision of her – the tender gaze she returned as he unthinkably reached to wrap his hand around her shoulder that fateful evening of shared champagne – was enough to soften the harsh edges of his tone.

"It was never my intention, my lady, to leave Downton in the lurch."

Lady Mary finally possessed the composure to respond. "Which is why Mrs. Hughes helped you to consider a transition period of overseeing the very changes you so despise," Lady Mary assumed, still struggling with the role Mrs. Hughes played in her butler's life.

"That was actually my suggestion. Mrs. Hughes, instead, offered the idea of broaching the subject of retirement in increments with the family."

At that, Lady Mary had to smile ruefully. "And I barged in and ruined that plan with abandon, I expect."

He couldn't help the tugging of his right cheek at the memory. It was still an uncomfortable recollection, but Mrs. Hughes had helped him to begin seeing the grim humor of it all. "Not exactly, no. But you did alter the delivery, my lady. Mrs. Hughes had intended to seek out Lady Grantham alone upon her return from luncheon," he offered. "What actually occurred couldn't be helped."

Lady Mary was fazed by the entire conversation and soon found herself sitting in the very desk chair Mrs. Hughes occupied for a fair amount of the day. Immediately, Charles Carson was struck by the symbolic nature of her physically occupying the place of the woman that kept his heart.

As she settled in, Carson moved the chair closest to the desk nearer to Lady Mary before lowering himself rather uncomfortably onto the seat. He could count on one hand how many times he had reclined in the presence of a family member and did not wish to add to that tally any more than medically necessary.

"It was never my intention to leave Downton in the lurch," he repeated. "And it was never my intention to leave Downton completely. I intended to always be close by. I still do," he promised with sincerity.

His promise stirred Lady Mary's heart – the part that most people and even she often forgot existed. "If your transition period is to work as planned, it would mean, for the first time, you would not spend the Season with us." _It would mean the first time you were never there at the bottom of the stairs, to guide us into dinner, to offer a kind remark on a dreadful day. To provide me a draft of self-confidence._

"It would, my lady. But if I may be so bold, again, I must say you are strong enough to survive much more than a Season without me," he said with all the candor he could muster in his kind eyes and soft expression. Her eyes lowered briefly in memory of that dark evening when she finally summoned the strength to begin letting herself be consumed and cleansed by grief as opposed to shock and anger.

But she didn't look down for long before looking upon him with the hint of growing confidence. "It will make for a quite different Season, Carson, without your presence."

"With all the changes to implement, my lady, I imagine you or Mr. Branson could return to Downton on occasion. Having a family member on hand to oversee the changes might be useful. Better still, you could mind the children when you feel compelled to leave the circus of the Season and the many suitors it attracts," he said with a subtle rise to his eyebrows.

Mary's eyes widened at the thought, somehow shocked yet not surprised by his accurate assessment of what was likely in store for her. He observed a twinkle in her eye as she assessed, "You're quite the plotter, aren't you, Carson?"

He couldn't help but smile at her and the memory of the woman who belonged in that chair for decades. "I've been well counseled, my lady."

Lady Mary couldn't help but return his smile despite the unshed tears that began to gather. It simultaneously warmed and pained her to think of how Mrs. Hughes obviously buoyed the stern yet tender butler. Matthew had looked past her exterior to find the same tenderness within her that Carson now expressed, however briefly. She couldn't help but wonder how much Mrs. Hughes truly figured in Carson's esteem.

She focused again on her butler and his appraisal of the future of Downton. He had considered the matter from every angle, including her own. Lady Mary's concerns and fears, however, didn't change his ultimate path – leaving Downton as butler. She should have never thought of attempting to enlist Mrs. Hughes in the business of keeping Carson at Downton, she realized as her discussion with Carson wore on. But she was infinitely grateful for clearing the air that hung between her and the butler since he announced his intention to eventually retire. Finally, she sought out his clasped hands and rested her own upon them for a moment. She assured him of her own regard for him with a squeeze of the hands before releasing her hold.

Their chat continued on for a time longer, focusing on the growing Master George and tales Carson recalled from her own childhood. Other important thoughts were also inquired about and shared. Eventually, she departed Mrs. Hughes's sitting room, calmer yet still conflicted. Lady Mary was energized by the fact that his regard for her didn't appear to waiver, but the reality of his departure still loomed. She would eventually seek out her parents before dinner.

* * *

Charles Carson approached a blissful housekeeper and cook on the lane that led to the backdoor. It calmed him slightly to see their good spirits given the conversation that was to ensue on their way to and from the village. On the prior evening, Mrs. Hughes had expressed her desire to let Mrs. Patmore know a bit more of where they stood. Their engagement was to remain under wraps, butler and housekeeper had agreed, but their possible retirement and expressed love were to be shared. He only hoped Mrs. Hughes had led her to the point at which they were farthest away from the village and the estate, as it required little imagination to picture and hear the screaming cook as the housekeeper imparted the news.

As they trio neared closer to each other, Mrs. Patmore couldn't help but exclaim, "You daft beggar! If I weren't so pleased for you, I'd box your ears for taking our Mrs. Hughes from us. Well, your Mrs. Hughes," she included with more than a bit of cheek. Mrs. Patmore had no doubt that marriage would soon be on the way for the pair.

"She's not a possession, Mrs. Patmore," Mr. Carson reminded with great formality to his voice despite the hint of a smile on his face.

"Right you are. You treat her properly, Mr. Carson, and maybe a bit improperly when the mood strikes."

Both butler and housekeeper couldn't help their gaping mouths as they stared down the cook. It was all Mrs. Patmore needed to finish her walk back to the Servant's Entrance alone. She intended to leave the lovebirds for a quiet moment while assessing how Daisy managed the younger cooking staff for the afternoon.

"Well, that went better than expected," Mrs. Hughes couldn't help but laugh as she watched Mr. Carson slowly recover from the shock. His rolling shoulder expressed his continued discomfort as his cheeks returned to their normal color. She waited for him to turn and begin their walk to the backdoor, but he stood in the lane observing something beyond the lane in which they stood.

Finally, he murmured while motioning to the field behind her, "Do you mind walking a bit further?"

"I don't mind. But, whatever for?"

Charles Carson looked thoughtful and apprehensive as he took a small parcel from her hands and carried it for her. He motioned for her to follow him to the open field leading further away from the Servant's entrance and Abbey generally. There was only one thing that could make him look and act this way. "Did a certain daughter of the house make a visit this afternoon?"

"She did indeed," he responded cryptically and without further elaboration.

Instead, they walked silently, taking in the cleansing air of the open field. They headed past a small patch of trees to find solace and relief from the sun under a much larger thicket. Once under the canopy, Charles Carson led her to rest upon a rather wide but low stump of a fallen, ancient tree.

He let her settle in and remove her hat, watching with some satisfaction the relief she felt from being off her feet. "Before you protest," he began, "It must be said that Lady Mary and you share some things in common."

At that, Mrs. Hughes couldn't help the immediate rise of her eyebrows or dropping of her lower jaw. Every ounce of her being wanted to make a remark protesting any comparison to the uppity minx. But for his sake, she waited.

"Before we parted, she asked me if I would be happy upon retiring." Elsie Hughes couldn't help but turn her head slightly, looking down at the broken branches and moss that littered the earth about them. It was the same concern that filled her every prayer to accept his departure for Haxby on account of Lady Mary with at least the semblance of grace. It brought her some comfort to know the uppity minx was filled with a similar concern.

"And how did you respond," she asked quietly.

"Why don't you ask me again," he replied.

_He remembered._ "Will you be happy there, that's what I want to be sure of."

He was looking away as she asked again, full of concern. All those years ago, he couldn't will himself to look her in the eye over shame, regret, and confusion about his place in the world and his feelings over departing her. "If you're asking whether I will be happy in retirement, happy in our marriage," he asked while gazing upon her as serious as she had ever seen him. "I will count myself a lucky man every minute of every day."

His confession lingered along with his gaze upon her, warming under the cool canopy of trees as a look of true tranquility settled over them.

After a moment passed, she patted the open space on the stump next to her. It was strange to them both to sit next to each other this close outside of church. Their proximity on their shared pew was an added bonus of regularly attending services each Sunday morning. But proper Charles Carson did something he never dared while at church. His right hand reached across to grab hers, letting their joined hands rest on his lower thigh. His left hand gently brushed her shoulders before his middle and ring finger began tracing the unmistakable line of her corset that he could sometimes detect when she sat at her desk chair. Over and over he traced it, observing her trembling frame as the nail of his middle finger lightly scratched her skin just above the corset through the material of her dress.

So caught up in tracing that distracting line while watching the growing blush on her cheeks and faint breaths, he failed to register how Elsie Hughes released his hand to slightly squeeze his leg. The pressure of her small hand caused him to breathe deeply through his clenched teeth before his now free hand reached across her to claim the hard frame of her corset above her right hip.

"Elsie," he harshly whispered before joining their lips for a heated moment. Her hands, circuiting from the nape of his neck to his chest, were working wonders on unhinging any semblance of control Charles Carson possessed. He couldn't control his right hand as it trailed from her hip, nor could he prevent it from gently squeezing her thigh before clenching her thankfully loose skirt just above her knee.

Elsie Hughes was in heaven despite the total lack of propriety. His passion was exciting and frightening, and she was plainly afraid of unleashing the unknown yet instinctual actions that came with loving this man so deeply. But she couldn't stop her quiet moan as he kissed along one side of her neck.

He was about to descend upon her lips again when she whispered, "I love you, Charles," repeating the declaration as tears of joy threatened to fall. How they finally found each other with such fervent appeal, despite living decades together yet apart, was still a pleasant shock to her system. He melted at her repeated confession, enfolding her in a warm embrace. They hugged each other – fiercely, reverently, joyously - on that stump in the thicket until their internal clocks reminded them of staff tea and the regimented life they hoped to soon depart.

* * *

_Later that evening._

Charles Carson presided over the family nightcaps, as usual. He looked as professional as ever, determined as he was to not let the lingering uncertainty regarding his future affect his service. He could observe conflicting emotions throughout the family. Lady Mary, he was pleased to see, was slightly more at ease and even managed to flash him a faint smile. An unfamiliar ease, however, settled over Lord and Lady Grantham. They traded looks between each other before Mr. Branson interrupted the wordless stream of communication. As the estate agent bid the earl goodnight, Carson was at his side to collect Mr. Branson's nearly empty glass of whiskey. Once alone, it was then that Lord Grantham addressed the matter that remained unsettled.

"Carson, please have yourself and Mrs. Hughes preside over tea tomorrow," the Lord commanded formally but quietly. He ignored the perplexed, widening eyes of his butler. "I realize it is unusual for you, Carson, but Lady Grantham, Lady Mary, and I would like a private audience with you then. Could you arrange it?"

The butler bowed his head slightly, replying, "Leave it to me, my lord."

* * *

As always, reviews, reblogs, etc. are highly valued.


	18. Overseeing Tea

Previously on Quiet Evolution:

"Carson, please have yourself and Mrs. Hughes preside over tea tomorrow," the Lord commanded formally but quietly. He ignored the perplexed, widening eyes of his butler. "I realize it is unusual for you, Carson, but Lady Grantham, Lady Mary, and I would like a private audience with you then. Could you arrange it?"

The butler bowed his head slightly, replying, "Leave it to me, my lord."

* * *

_The following afternoon._

Elsie Hughes was not normally given to woolgathering. But the way she puttered about the staging area connected to the dining room the following afternoon would lead any person to assume otherwise. She was not normally filled with nerves over any particular matter. Meeting with the family to discuss changes to the estate had acclimatized her to standing in their company discussing major initiatives for the estate.

But the significant change facing the family over the past few days was posed by herself and Mr. Carson. Though the family would not change their ultimate destination – marriage and a life together – they could alter the path they would take. She heard the library door open and close as Molesley exited the room, her anxiety growing by the minute.

She was to wait for the clock to strike a quarter past until moving to the library, but the library door opening and closing yet again almost compelled her to leave her waiting spot. Yet she paused as the unmistakable gait of Charles Carson became faintly louder by the moment. They locked eyes as he finally rounded the corner and moved to close the door partially.

He took her hand, squeezing it firmly. Something in his eyes made her festering nerves fall away as he whispered, "Whatever they say, whatever they plan to do, will not change my adoration for you or our plans for a life together." She almost thought she was in a dream when the ever proper Charles Carson stooped to steal a lingering, loving kiss from her lips.

"We best get on," she whispered as her eyes locked again with this. Their fate already settled, Charles Carson proudly led her out of the room to the family that awaited them in the library.

* * *

The family was still settling in to their afternoon tea when Mr. Carson returned with Mrs. Hughes. Lord Grantham had chosen an opportune time to speak. Lady Edith and Lady Rose were on the train from London, hopefully to return on time before the evening's dinner party while Tom tended to tenant farmers on the other side of the estate.

By the time Carson returned, Lord and Lady Grantham were seated on one of the red sofas, sipping their soothing yet fortifying drinks. Lady Mary was still moving between the table laid for tea and standing behind the sofa. Other than the unusual presence of Mrs. Hughes, which Mr. Carson had remarked as most improper the night before as Mrs. Hughes rolled her eyes, things appeared quite ordinary.

A few moments passed as Lady Grantham inquired after the status of the dinner party preparations. With practiced ease, Mrs. Hughes responded, assuring the countess that everything appeared to be in hand for the extra dinner guests, including guest rooms should they be needed. Upon Lord Grantham emptying his cup and setting it down, he cleared his throat for attention as he stood near the sofa. Motioning for his butler and housekeeper to stand in front of the other red sofa, his other hand was soon was occupied by Cora's. The Countess now also stood to address the pair as Mary set her saucer and cup down on the tea table.

"Carson, Mrs. Hughes, you shocked us with your intentions to retire, that is an understatement. Although it shouldn't be a surprise, as you almost left us once before, Carson, it remains a difficult fact to swallow," Lord Grantham began neutrally, looking down at his wife as he drew a steadying breath.

"But, ultimately, our wishes for you to stay at the helm to help us usher in a new era are just that – wishes."

Lady Cora felt compelled to speak as she gazed upon her butler and housekeeper. They were still professional, yet obviously uneasy to be standing before the earl and countess. "We've asked so much of you over the years – keeping Downton grand in one breath, turning it into a convalescent home in another – you've handled it all. Thinking that this house will run without you was nearly unthinkable, at first."

Carson turned his head quickly at the sound of Lady Mary's voice. Her eyes addressed the butler then even as she spoke to her father. "But we counseled each other, didn't we, papa?" Though her expression gave no hint of smile, her eyes were full of kindness even as the whole business still pained her.

"We did indeed, Mary. The family has come to the conclusion that we reluctantly accept your intention to retire."

Butler and housekeeper were clearly affected by the announcement, but they didn't dare look each other in the eye. Instead, their faces jutted towards each other, finding solace as they spied each other in their peripheral visions.

Lady Cora continued the conversation. "We accept your reasons, and even understand them even as it pains us to see you go."

Carson roused himself to respond with a voice of graveled emotion. "That is very generous, my lady, my lord."

"It is a great kindness, my lady, my lord," Mrs. Hughes responded before glancing somewhat kindly at the eldest Crawley daughter. Mr. Carson, over a glass of wine the previous evening, shared more details of his conversation with Lady Mary. Although her sympathy for Lady Mary was yet to be absolute, she was beginning to appear less and less a spoiled child to Elsie Hughes and more an adult struggling but willing to endure the trials of life.

On the previous morning, Lord Grantham had stood at the front door of Downton, seeing off his daughter and niece as they departed for a short trip to London. As he stood there, alone, looking out onto the grassy expanse, he recalled the poignant conversation he had with his butler following the commemoration of the end of war. He felt the sentiment of that moment was worth repeating, for his belief never wavered.

"I said it before when we almost lost you to Haxby, Carson." He didn't even deign to recall the name of her eldest daughter's former fiancé by name. The newspaper man didn't deserve the breath it took to utter the selfish man's name. Instead, Lord Grantham set his sights on the selfless man before him. "Although I have every faith in Molesley or whoever ultimately takes over as butler, you can ever be replaced."

The swelling of emotion behind the facades of butler and earl were not easily discerned from the outside. But his employer knew, without doubt, that his butler did not approach his decision to retire lightly. It is what kept Lord Grantham from becoming blindly irate at the thought of being abandoned by the closest thing he had to a brother or uncle, always nearby to provide counsel and support, however silent and with sober dignity.

"Mrs. Hughes, I would imagine Lady Grantham feels the same about you."

"I can't tell you how much I appreciate your selfless work over the years, Mrs. Hughes," Lady Grantham confessed with sincerity. "We will learn to manage without you, but it certainly will never be the same."

"We wait your exact timetables for your departures," Lord Grantham asked with an amount of expectation. The Season transition was the timetable mentioned during their disjointed, awkward conversation. At this point, the earl had surmised, nothing could be assumed.

As he appraised his butler and housekeeper, both standing faithfully before them, he could tell something else was going on. He quickly glanced at his wife to see if she was registering the same intangible yet palpable presence of something left unsaid. Lady Mary had shared her thoughts that the butler had held something back in their conversation while conveying obvious regard for Mrs. Hughes. Tom's casual mention of married housekeepers and butlers had already led to nearly unthinkable speculation on the part of the earl. Still, he wondered.

As Carson gave a furtive side-eyed glance to Mrs. Hughes, it was enough for Lady Grantham to signal with her eyes for the earl to press further with an amount of expectant sincerity. "Of course, we had always intended to offer you each a cottage upon your retirement, and we are happy to deliver on our promises."

"That won't be necessary, your lordship," Mr. Carson interrupted in a burst before faltering. The last time he relied on his sense of timing, it was a disaster. "That is…" He was saved by a lilting, Scottish voice.

"What Mr. Carson means to say," she began while assessing his face and finding what she needed. She pressed on with that same softly commanding voice that brought order to the household, "Is that a cottage each is not necessary, my lord."

But she took great care in articulating her next revelation. She had been soothing her hands near her waist until then. But finally, they wrung gently at her sides as she admitted, "One cottage will suffice."

_One cottage._ The number lingered in the air, pregnant with possibilities. Lord and Lady Grantham exchanged a loaded look between them as Lady Mary's eyebrows rose in delighted victory. "Carson," Lady Mary prompted, unable to contain herself any longer. "Please tell me this your way of telling us you mean to be married."

Grateful he didn't have to say the word first, though no less proud of that very fact, he offered, "It is, my lady." After bowing his head slightly, he couldn't help but glance down at Mrs. Hughes's calm face sporting the ghost of a smile, unable to hide his own small smile while his eyes crinkled with love and pride. In response, she pivoted slightly in his direction, her mouth opening, trying to prevent itself from giving way to a broad grin. Instead, she restrained herself with a shy but knowing expression while gazing at the fireplace, waiting for his ever proper announcement. "Mrs. Hughes and I intend to wed."

The delighted outburst from the family put the two most-favored members of the household staff back on their heels. Both were nearly floored at the thoroughly American display of emotion. Even Lord Grantham managed to give Carson a somewhat hearty handshake, along with a "my dear fellow." As delighted as Mr. Carson was at their welcoming of their impending nuptials, the problem of succession remained.

"Tomorrow, Carson, we will discuss that tomorrow."

"Mrs. Hughes and I have an idea of who could be our replacements, my lord…"

"I said it before Carson, you could never be replaced."

"The same goes for you, Mrs. Hughes," Lady Grantham expressed with candor. Mrs. Hughes couldn't help but tuck her chin at the swelling of emotion that simple statement provoked. She smiled and bowed her head in gratitude.

"Be that as it may, my lord, Mrs. Hughes and I will be happy to discuss our successors and a timetable tomorrow. If you don't mind, we would like to inform the staff of our news at the commencement of their tea, if you are agreeable."

"Please do," Lord Grantham answered. "And congratulations again two you both. It's a shame to lose you simultaneously, but at least it will be for a reason worth celebrating. I trust you will allow us to tell Mama before dining this evening."

"If you wish, my lord."

Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes both gave their respects before turning to leave the library. Lady Mary caught his eye before he turned to shut the door. He was grateful to see her happiness for them even as it caused her pain and discomfort. His offer still stood, and his future was now assured in always being able to provide counsel or a shoulder to cry on.

Consumed by a rush of emotion, Elsie Hughes wasn't quite ready to trudge back downstairs to provide the last announcements they would make for the day. Instead, she directed Mr. Carson to the preparation area just off the dining room. He wasn't prepared for the small but determined mass that launched herself into his arms. Perplexed, thrilled, and discomforted at such an outburst, he held on for dear life as Mrs. Hughes continued her fierce embrace.

After sighing deeply, she loosened her hold on him and stepped away to straighten her dress.

"What brought that on," he asked lovingly, already somewhat sure of her answer.

"Nothing, everything," was all Elsie Hughes could manage in the moment. As she fixed his tie, he tugged his waistcoat in familiar fashion to soothe his equally disquieted nerves. Charles Carson found the tranquility he sought by looking into her blue eyes in the half-shadows of the pantry. They were nearly brimming with tears of joy.

He softly grabbed her hand, squeezing it in acknowledgment. "Everything," he murmured. She smiled in response before turning her head roughly to the windows of the dining room. The sun was beginning to crest over the far hill – it was drawing closer to the beginning of the staff's teatime.

"I just needed a moment. I'm ready now. Are you?"

"As long as you are," he responded with a half-smile.

When they finally revealed all in the Servant's Hall, the roar of the downstairs staff was no less flooring than the family's welcoming response. Their entropy was increasing yet again as their warm hands clasped each other's while congratulations were showered upon them. Only Mr. Carson's overly-authoritative voice finally put an end to the madness – of well wishes and questions about who would replace them – before he returned upstairs to ring the dressing gong.

* * *

That evening, Elsie Hughes had retrieved the box hiding Charles Carson's ring and the accompanying letter requesting patience from his dearest friend. She had waited until their usual sherry to remove the box from a desk drawer.

By the time she turned around in her chair, he was in front of her, on one knee yet again. She gasped in surprise.

"If you recall, my dear Mr. Carson, you've already done the deed."

"Yes, but now it's not a secret, my dear Mrs. Hughes – now you can wear it when and wherever you please."

"I would like it to be on my finger, and now, if you please."

"Well," he said bashfully, "as would I."

"So…," she prodded with loving amusement.

He responded in jaunty fashion. "So… Elsie Hughes, keeper of the keys and my heart, I would be honored to place this symbol of my love and devotion to you on your finger, again."

"As would I, my stern yet softhearted butler," she remarked with a growing grin.

Their playfulness soon grew serious as he opened the box and placed it back on her desk. They both gazed at each other as he took hold of her hand. "Thank you for keeping me steady," he murmured earnestly. _For challenging me, for being patient with me, for not thinking I'm a sorry old fool, for loving me._

"You steady me more than you'll ever know," she whispered as he placed the ring, yet again, in its proper place before kissing her finger, now encased by the glimmering ring.

His knee would never forgive him if he stayed on it for much longer, so he rose, taking her with him to her settee. Her voluptuous curves on his lap were far more palatable than stone. Their growing intimacies were becoming more intense, more sustained, yet even more startling as they led each other ever closer to teetering over that edge they hoped to cross as married man and wife.

Upon parting that evening, their lips were pleasantly swollen from their exertions. As Charles Carson watched his betrothed enter the female quarters, he couldn't help but smile indulgently at the sight of her barely tamed hair. His own had loosened from the hold of his pomade, he discovered upon returning to his room. As he unrobed for the evening, the image of the ring shining brightly on her finger warmed him in the coolness of his quarters.

That night, their dreams were delicious. Along with the cataloging of a most glorious day, they both glimpsed into a future filled with untold possibilities.

* * *

Well, after a most depressing Emmys presentation, I felt it was more than necessary to get this chapter posted.

As always, I crave and value each note, like, reblog, PM, and view. Drop a line if you can - I promise to get back to you as soon as I wrap up this story (which is soon, hopefully!).


	19. The Resurgent Ambush

_A few days following the retirement and engagement announcements._

Lady Mary, once again, felt like quite the interloper as she headed down the stairs to the true headquarters of Downton Abbey. Her mission today, however, was more selfless in nature. For once, she wished to avoid the kind and watchful eye of Charles Carson. Fortunately, she had overheard him tutoring Mr. Molesley in the dining room. She softly smiled as she heard him giving quite the lecture on the proper way to oversee preparations for a family dinner as she headed for the green baize door.

Once downstairs, she sought out her target with as much stealth as she could employ. Knocking gently on the door of her destination, she was granted entrance by the soft yet commanding voice of Mrs. Elsie Hughes.

"My lady, how can I be of assistance?"

"I should put that question to you, Mrs. Hughes." Having closed the door behind her, Lady Mary still felt decidedly out of place in the housekeeper's domain. She found her voice once she spotted the gleaming ring on Mrs. Hughes's left hand. "I didn't mean to barge in on your work, but something has troubled me since Carson's discussion with my father regarding your timeline to marry and retire."

The conversation between earl and butler was decidedly awkward, she recalled, with Carson having little opportunity to truly express himself verbally. Her father had brought up the matter rather unceremoniously during breakfast. Carson's agitated state, however, was quite visible to the oldest Crawley daughter as he helplessly stood over the shoulder of Lord Grantham as if the earl was asking for his thoughts about the house cricket team. It was that observation that led her to ponder things to the point of seeking out Mrs. Hughes.

Mrs. Hughes herself was equally agitated by the turn of events. Though Lord Grantham had likely meant no harm, his asking such an important question as a constant stream of footmen and members of the house went about them led to a stilted conversation and a most unfortunate result. As it stood, butler and housekeeper were to marry and move into a cottage in January.

"You are welcome anytime, my lady. If you would like to be seated, perhaps we can sort it out." Relieved to have a moment to gather herself, Lady Mary settled into the comfortable settee near the fireplace as Mrs. Hughes rotated her desk chair towards the younger woman. "If I may ask, my lady, what in particular troubles you about our intention to marry just before the family departs for the Season? That is several months from now, giving time for our replacements to take the helm with greater ease."

"Well that's just it, isn't it? It is several months from now. I can recall the time between my engagement and nuptials to Matthew as being most anxious," she recalled with the slightest bit of awkwardness and melancholy.

For the past day, she was lost in the memories of that time – the joy and the nerves. They had wasted so much time dancing around their feelings, denying them, and seeking out others in the process. Once they were at that point – of honesty about their pasts and their wishes for the future – time seemed to trudge slowly onward even as their short engagement was delayed long enough to allow her grandmother to travel from America. It was that memory, despite the awkwardness of thinking about Carson and Mrs. Hughes being anxious to marry, that compelled her to ask such a loaded question: "Is waiting that long acceptable to you?"

Mrs. Hughes couldn't help being slightly taken aback by the question. It was, at once, impertinent and well-meaning, borne by bittersweet experience. "The family has done us a great kindness in supporting our choice to retire, as well as our marriage," she remarked without going further.

Lady Mary waited impatiently for more. "That doesn't answer the question."

"No, my lady, it does not," she conceded with respect yet without giving an inch. Had Charles Carson been present, he would have been apoplectic the moment he heard Lady Mary's question. Mrs. Hughes, torn by her wish to be honest about wanting to marry in the fall, as well as a sense of propriety her betrothed would certainly appreciate, held her ground.

"I don't wish to pry, but I do want to find a way to repay the kindness bestowed upon me over the years by Carson, as well as you, Mrs. Hughes. Please let me know how I can help ensure your transition will be made more pleasant. I realize some of the initiatives that will consume Downton, especially as it regards staffing, are my doing."

"It can't be helped," Mrs. Hughes answered, trying to deflect the matter. "Traditions must adapt in light of our times. That is what you are attempting to do, my lady. It is an admirable thing. Mr. Carson and I are trying in our own way to make it easier on all concerned," she provided earnestly.

"But I wouldn't want it to be at the expense of your happiness, Mrs. Hughes, which is why I ask – do you wish to be married much earlier than January?"

She sighed as she rubbed her hands to soothe her herself. This stubborn, young woman was trying to be kind, offering to help with the very thing that enlivened and haunted her dreams each night. But this conversation was hardly proper. Even she had to draw the line. But the insistent force of the woman before her could actually do a bit of good, or so she hoped.

Mrs. Hughes finally shook her head slightly, relenting. "If it would be possible for Mr. Carson and myself to be married earlier while still training our replacements and overseeing the installation of the new systems during the Season, then it would be most acceptable to us both."

"There, that's all I needed, Mrs. Hughes," Lady Mary responded brightly as she rose from her seat. With singular, well-meaning arrogance and optimism, she concluded, "Leave the rest to me."

Before Mrs. Hughes could bid Lady Mary a pleasant afternoon, she was already out the door. Elsie Hughes could only sigh in amused exasperation. It was strange, to say the least, to have Lady Mary as an explicit ally. True, they both watched after the ailing health of Charles Carson when he fell ill. But this was somehow different. Mrs. Hughes could only pray and hope Lady Mary's stubborn ways would lead to the fall wedding so desired by butler and housekeeper.

As she closed her office door, she couldn't help but think of her betrothed. She envisioned the ever proper Charles Carson, not able to prevent herself from smirking at the prospect of telling him about the latest initiative of his blessed Lady Mary.

At that, Elsie Hughes warmly and fondly muttered, "Uppity minx."

* * *

After some five-course meal-sized chapters, I needed to get a palate cleanser in.

Let me know your thoughts as we trudge ever closer to the end! They are always appreciated!


	20. Discovery, part 1

_A fortnight later._

Lady Mary was true to her stubborn, well-meaning word. Several pointed, awkward conversations with her father led to a fortuitous result: the marriage of Charles Carson and Elsie Hughes was to occur at the couple's choosing. Perhaps, by that time, Mr. Carson might be fully recovered from the embarrassment stemming from Lady Mary's lobbying on their behalf to ensure he would soon become a man of wedded bliss.

Despite the entropy that felt ever increasing as the prospect of their marriage transformed from distant dream to a fixed reality, the housekeeper and butler found themselves working as frantically as they did during the war. This time around, however, Mr. Charles Carson paced himself by finding free moments alone with the future Mrs. Elsie Carson. In between discussions of finding and helping to decide who would replace them, as well as determining how to effectively train their successors, planning of a more personal nature quickly became part of the daily discussions.

Today, they took their discussions outside the grand house.

* * *

The Yorkshire air was turning marginally cooler as autumn took hold. Before their betrothal and even their growing closeness, Mrs. Hughes found secret pleasure as the air became crisp and biting. The ever gallant Charles Carson often offered his arm to her on Sundays and other outings, drawing her close to his warm bulk if there was the slightest chance that a slick spot lurked on the pathway and road between the Abbey and church due to an early frost. She never refused the opportunity. It was one of many miniscule measures each would take to enliven their highly ordered, regimented lives with fleeting moments of intimacy. Otherwise, they were left to care for each other through looks and words and cloistered acts of kindness.

No excuses were made as they walked closely together this afternoon. They strolled with the confidence that came with a bright future nearly in their grasp. Elsie Hughes couldn't help but take in Charles Carson's profile every few dozen steps. She was struck by the barely-contained look of contentment on the face of her betrothed. Though they were more heavily clothed, it was as if they were wading into the sea, once more. The soft rolling waves and seagulls provided an enchanting song that momentous day. Now, however, Charles Carson filled the air as he began humming an old love song.

His humming increased in volume as they walked further away from the village and towards the estate. She could feel his gaze upon her then, spying his smile in the periphery as he hit a higher note. True, they glanced at each other throughout their daily lives, augmenting any discussion with others using a shorthand sure to faze those not privy to their silent conversations. But, they didn't often indulge in gazing openly at each other for the sake of gazing. To feel his eyes upon her now was thrilling, bringing a warmth that centered low in her torso. Combining with the reverberation of his low hum, his intent focus on her body made her shiver involuntarily and tug their joined hands closer to her.

She quickly became consumed by a delightful breathlessness as Charles Carson stooped to nuzzle her cheek. His warm breath and continued humming caused her to breathe in sharply and close her eyes as he kissed her cheek. His attentions were overwhelming, even as his intimate proximity lasted but a moment.

They continued to walk, venturing closer than they normally dared. Through narrow thresholds and crowded hallways, they seemed to be acutely aware of each other's bodies, ensuring that they didn't approach impropriety should they need to touch out of necessity. Their walk this afternoon was made with even more awareness of each other. They dared to walk ever closer, their joined hands brushing – his thigh, her hip – teasing and learning of each other with each pass.

As they settled back into their familiar pattern, his longer strides deliberately shortened to match her gait, Mr. Carson ceased his humming. "What did you think of Mr. Travis?"

"After he picked up his jaw from the floor at the thought of us marrying, I think our conversation was the least stilted as it could possibly be," Mrs. Hughes replied with some relief, at the fruitful conversation and the distraction his question posed from the teasing touch of his brushing hand. The butler and housekeeper had rightly approached their meeting with Mr. Travis with some apprehension.

After all, this was the man of the cloth that frowned at honoring the dying wish of a fallen soldier who hoped only to marry his sweetheart before the toil of war robbed him of the chance. Perhaps all those successful church bazaars were enough to show Mr. Travis they were sufficiently devoted to his conception of Christianity. Accordingly, he granted their wish to marry properly in the church, without need for a special license, despite the increasing haste each felt to finally wed.

As the line between village and estate was made more apparent, Charles Carson and Elsie Hughes became companionably silent again. They began to deviate from their usual path home towards slightly unfamiliar territory. Though the particulars of the estate were well known to them at this point in their careers, neither Mrs. Hughes nor Mr. Carson ventured on solitary walks near the cottages other than for the specific purpose of seeing Mr. and Mrs. Bates. Their destination today, however, was not the row of cottages containing the home of the valet and lady's maid.

Instead, they ventured to an area deliberately set slightly apart from the other housing developments. The cottages to be explored were not connected to other dwellings and had larger grounds. Mr. Branson had suggested the disconnected cottages as viable options, reasoning that there was no need for the retiring butler and housekeeper to live as close to the house as possible. That theory alone sounded intriguing to the pair.

Two of the cottages were vacant, with a third soon to be empty, as well. And so, Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes strolled with a critical eye to the area, weighing and measuring what they saw, both silently and to each other. It was a strange, untethered feeling to be surveying their future life. Though enchanted by waking or sleeping dreams of a future together, the exact particulars were never clear. Without a word between them, they had both agreed to not fit each other into an idea of a future life developed on their own. They weren't to be caught up in recreating a specific dream – a house with a large enough fireplace or room of a certain size and painted a certain color. They would decide the particulars of their fate, together.

Though the third, still vacant cottage was an option, both agreed that bothering the current tenants would be most rude. Instead, they explored the first of the two empty cottages. It was situated slightly closer to the other houses, as well as Downton. They soon found, however, that the layout of the kitchen and bathroom would likely not accommodate a bathtub of sufficient size for Charles Carson.

He couldn't help the creeping shade of pink on his ears and cheeks as they spoke of the bathtub, trying desperately to not think of her envisioning his body occupying a large enough vessel in the space. Despite his embarrassment at feeling a rush of arousal – the thought of her imagining of him in that way could do nothing else – they managed to soldier on through their assessment of the interior and exterior before moving onto the next cottage. He was grateful to breathe several cleansing breaths in the cooler air to gather himself before visiting the next dwelling.

The final cottage had been updated recently, sporting a fresher paint of coat on the shutters and small fence about the front yard. Once inside, the living room was similar in scope to the previous home, but the kitchen was configured differently, allowing a washbasin of sufficient size to be accommodated. But that was not the reason why Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes halted their tour.

Resting conspicuously on the kitchen countertop near the sink was a wicker basket. They both looked at each other to gauge their mutual surprise before Mrs. Hughes finally pulled open the flaps and gasped. It was filled with the elements for a brief picnic for two. "Goodness," she exclaimed before handing Charles Carson a small note that rested atop a container of cider.

"Mr. Branson and Mrs. Patmore have been scheming," he said with exaggeration. The cook and estate agent managed to ensure Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes were not needed at the house until dinnertime.

"Scheming to ensure we don't starve or overwork ourselves, Charles. That's worth excusing in my book," she responded with a tilt to her head and raising of her brows.

"The only scheming I've ever considered excusing is yours, Elsie," he leveled pompously before his twinkling eyes gave him away. "But, perhaps I can accept their plotting just this once. Would you like to conclude the grand tour before we savor what I hope will be some biscuits?"

Playfully moving about the various jars and wrapped treats in the basket in search of the biscuits, she finally retrieved them to show a delighted Charles Carson. "How about a bit of a break, first? We could eat outside in the yard, if you like. They included a blanket for us."

Without a second thought, he grabbed the basket and waited for her to head out of the kitchen. "Lead on, my darling."

* * *

Elsie Hughes chose to picnic in the back garden, having not seen it on their approach. What they encountered was idyllic. The area was not large, but still sizeable, ensuring privacy on all sides and relatively pristine views of woods and some farmland in the distance. Yet, the cottage was not that far off from the lane leading to the backdoor of the Abbey.

It wasn't long before Charles rose from the blanket and began surveying the plot of land. He assessed the trees, observing how part of the grassy area was shaded at that time of the afternoon and calculating how much sunlight each part of the yard would receive throughout the day. Should they want to plant a garden, of roses or vegetables or both, it could suit their needs, he decided.

When he turned back to share his thoughts with Elsie, he was surprised to discover her absence. So engrossed in his survey of the back garden, he missed her retreating form. As he returned to the site of their picnic, he frowned at the sight of her hat and coat resting on the blanket next to his. Instead of calling out for her, he followed the garden path towards the back door that led to the kitchen and pantry.

Before reaching the open back door, he stopped short at the sight of her standing at the sink with the picnic basket resting again on the countertop. In the emptiness of the cottage, with light streaming through its confines, acting as slanted pillars of light amongst the shadows, she stood out as a beacon of flesh and blood. He observed her silently as she rinsed the now empty jar of cider and some of the empty plates. Charles Carson stood mesmerized as the light filtering through the window that was situated over the sink illuminated the increasingly lighter tones of her hair. Dark or light, almost raven colored or faintly auburn, her hair remained beautiful to him over the years. Everything about her had always been enchanting, but never more so until this moment.

She was calling him to her without even knowing it, using that lilting voice of hers to hum the song he had serenaded her with earlier today. Her voice was soft, as soft as the skin of her neck exposed above her dress and certainly what was hidden from view. Charles shivered at the thought. Despite the back door being somewhat to the left and behind her, he stood in disbelief that he went undetected near the doorway for this long. They always seem to detect each other's presence about the downstairs at Downton. Perhaps they would become that attuned to each other in their new cottage.

Finally, he shuffled a bit at the threshold, causing her to rotate her head and find him in the doorway. His hair was partly illuminated by the fading sunlight. The width of his shoulders were also set off against the lush, green background, highlighted by the crisp whiteness of his shirt now that he was free from the confines of his grey suit. Their afternoon walking in the sun warmed the tone of his cheeks and forehead, making the lines around his eyes more visible as he gazed happily upon her. The combination only served to punctuate his small, slightly crooked smile, rendering him roguishly dashing in the doorway. Elsie Hughes could only stare.

After a moment, she willed herself to rotate back to the sink and picnic basket to recover from the sight of him. Her voice managed to stay even as she asked for his thoughts about the cottages.

"Of the two we visited, this is further away from Downton," he acknowledged as he observed her responding nod of the head. "But it is rather the best of both worlds – proximity and tranquility."

"And Mr. Branson said in his note that this cottage would be better-suited for modern plumbing fixtures. Perhaps any updates could occur in conjunction with the house upgrades," she responded smoothly.

Her attentions then turned to arranging the china inside the picnic basket, bringing order as her emotions and desires bubbled underneath her placid exterior. Each piece of china rattled as she arranged the basket for the short walk back to Downton, which is why she gasped loudly at the feeling of Charles Carson's hands resting on her waist and hot breath in her ear.

* * *

I told you tumblr-ites that I was considering being evil….

Hopefully we'll have an update by the end of the day (Sunday evening latest – U.S. time zones).

In the meantime, if you have a moment to review, I would be most grateful. I promise, again, to respond to as many reviews as I can following the final chapter being posted. Lastly, I can't tell you enough how much I appreciate your readership, reviews, PM's, tumblr likes, reblogs, and fan mail. So - mwah! Hugs and kisses to you all.


	21. Discovery, part 2

Previously on Quiet Evolution:

Her attentions then turned to arranging the china inside the picnic basket, bringing order as her emotions and desires bubbled underneath her placid exterior. Each piece of china rattled as she arranged the basket for the short walk back to Downton, which is why she gasped loudly at the feeling of Charles Carson's hands resting on her waist and hot breath in her ear.

* * *

Charles Carson had watched her – a picture of domestic bliss – until a thought hurtled through his brain, making the leap from unconsciousness to consciousness.

How very real their future felt, to watch her at the sink - how stunningly real. He had stood motionless until that thought. Now, he could wait no longer to bridge the connection between dreams and reality.

When he reached for her, with his breath warming more than her ear, Elsie Hughes immediately stilled as nearly every sense was overwhelmed by the man standing behind her.

He didn't move just yet, and yet still managed to set her aflame with the heat of his breath. Moments ticked by, or so she thought, until she pushed her hands harshly along the edge of the counter in a bid to stay upright.

Their breathing grew more labored, even as his lower torso seemed miles away from her. But his distance was to their mutual advantage, allowing him to bend and finally whisper in her ear. "Do you remember what I said when you assumed I wanted to marry Alice," he asked before nuzzling her just behind her left ear.

Her eyes grew wide at the unexpected question. Of course, she remembered. His bashfulness, his complete honesty about his emotions, was not soon to be forgotten.

"How many years it took to truly learn how young and foolish I was," he continued as the sound of his low voice penetrated her skin and eardrum in waves, causing her to shiver. "We're so close to marrying, Elsie. There is nothing that could ever compare to how much I want that."

_But you wanted to marry her._

_So much I could taste it._

Just as she replayed the memory of his serious confession, he began to savor her neck with his tongue – tasting her skin in a bid to discover how it could endlessly entice him. He traced a long muscle – achingly slow – as far down as the collar of her blouse would allow.

The sound of her low moan in response – in acknowledgment of that memory and the desire it conveyed – set Charles Carson's hands in motion, yet again. There was no doubt in Elsie Hughes's mind. Despite the greying hair and being on verge of retirement, that young man of passion was present – lavishing her with skillful adoration. He gripped and stroked the unpliable sides of her corset, slowly moving his hands ever closer to her navel as he slowly kissed and tasted his way back to her ear.

His knowledge of the female body was limited. But his time spent on the boards left him with flashes of memories of spirited, loose dancers in larger acts on the boards, revealing bare shoulders, stomachs, and long, toned legs. The memories of that skin had compelled him to act shamefully, in his view, as a young footman and valet. But that scant knowledge spurred him to explore his betrothed with reverence and respect and barely-checked passion.

Elsie was almost grateful for the glaring afternoon sun, allowing their reflections to remain obscure in the window before them. Otherwise, she was sure in the fact that she would have completely come undone at the sight of him towering over her, his eyes no doubt darkening by the minute.

He finally tore his lips away from her neck, moving instead to trail the softness of her blouse as it curved around her shoulders. Lips alternating with kneading hands in turn, he couldn't help but gaze upon the skin revealed by the great distance between her collar and top button. He had tried to avoid gazing at her while on the beach as she wore that same blouse. But in this moment, he was almost consumed with want to kiss each freckle, to find every single mark on her skin made by pleasant memories and the passage of time. For now, he would gaze upon her décolletage and take in the perfume of her skin.

The onslaught of his ministrations caused Elsie to push even more violently against the edge of the counter top, bringing her enticing hips closer to his. Roughly breaking his focus on her shoulders and skin as her lower body arched involuntarily back towards him, he caught her hips before she made contact with his lower torso.

She could feel his heaving chest as he neared closer again, and her head drooped to her chest in a bid to prevent herself from responding in a way that would leave them both embarrassed and incapable of being alone together until they were married.

She gained perspective momentarily at the prospect of having a finite date to which she would count down the minutes. At that thought, she closed her eyes for a moment before focusing – on the sound of his ragged breath, on the feel and sight of his tan fingers on her greyish-blue blouse. Her nose filled with his unique scent, soon realizing what she was missing. The return of propriety could wait a few more minutes.

_So much I could taste it._

Charles had savored her in these glorious minutes. But Elsie needed to taste and relish, as well.

In a smooth motion, she turned to face him, barely sparing the time to connect with his eyes – dark as she had ever seen them. Instead, she spied the chain that held is watch along his waistcoat, and tugged on it gently. It was all he needed to bend and meet her waiting lips in a searching kiss.

His enveloping hands found hers, squeezing them in loving reassurance even as they continued their frantic exploration. It was such a subtle gesture, but it evoked a rush of emotion inside Elsie Hughes. Spurred by his loving touch, her passion soon imbued with the stirrings of confidence despite the boundaries of propriety.

Almost roughly, she moved her hands away from his. They trailed upwards along his waistcoat until straining in vain to reach towards his shoulders. As heady of a feeling it was, to feel his rapid heartbeat under her hand, she needed more contact than lips and hands. Abruptly, she ended their kiss only to be met with hazel eyes questioning and desiring in equal measure. She knew, conceptually, what she wanted, yet not how to articulate it. Not yet.

Instead, she pulled him towards her with one hand, relying on instinct to convey all that could not yet be whispered and moaned. Her hand reaching towards his neck was enough to convey her need for him to bend his head to the side, to give her contact with his lips and body.

But as he bent closer to her, she couldn't help but yelp in confusion as he lifted her to the waiting counter top behind her, the wicker basket pushed unceremoniously to the side by her bottom. As he had stood in the doorway watching her, Charles Carson had unconsciously calculated whether her sitting on the counter top would result in her not having to strain so much as they locked in an embrace. It was a wild thought, borne from a commitment to serving others in unparalleled fashion. As she had reached for his neck, his calculation surfaced in his consciousness to successfully bring about their more comfortable proximity.

Her lips were closer to his now, but he was focused more on her heaving chest and primly set-together thighs. In future, he thought with only slight embarrassment, he would find a home between her strong limbs. But for now, he gently angled her legs to his right, still together, by wrapping his hands around her knees. Once settled, he ran his hands up her thighs to rest on her waist. Only then did he move closer to the counter, hoping to fulfill her temporarily denied want. His arms wrapped further around her as he surveyed her face – becoming with her blushing cheeks and darkened eyes – before focusing all of his attentions on her slightly opened mouth.

Before he could descend upon her lips, she launched forward to nibble and taste his own. Her hands gripped his shoulders before stroking the sides of his face momentarily as they continued to savor each other. As she controlled the pace of their kisses, his hands roamed everywhere – squeezing hips and thighs, splaying across her back before tunneling into her hair.

During their more heated nightcaps, he had attempted to restrain himself when it came to her locks. But the sight of domesticity she posed earlier overrode any sense of care. He wanted to tunnel her tresses through his long fingers, to massage her scalp where it reached her neck, just as she was doing to him currently.

In a moment of self-awareness as her eyes were blissfully shut tight, Elsie Hughes knew she could salvage her hair using the abandoned mirror in the entryway of the cottage. But Charles Carson's now tousled hair could never be explained away once it was loosened from the hold of his pomade. Mrs. Patmore would never be able to contain herself at the sight of him. The teasing they would endure, however, would be worth it. She could feel that with each passing moment of bliss.

At last, he relented from his onslaught of her lips and hair, moving to return his mouth to lavishing her neck as his arms encircled her. Growing bolder by the minute, he dared to move his attentions down and past her collarbone to savor the skin he only previously worshiped with his eyes.

Charles Carson realized it would have been too much to actually gaze at each freckle up close. Even though the lines he refused to cross had moved over the past few weeks, they were near the outer limits of his self-control. Instead, he kept his eyes shut as he explored her with his lips. Only when Elsie gasped as his lips ventured just above her broach did he open his eyes wide with disbelief.

"Oh, Charles," she nearly whispered with an alluring, drawn out, yet somehow breathless burr.

He couldn't even manage to utter her name in return before returning insistently to her lips, their tongues tasting deeply of each other. He had perched her on the counter top like the goddess that she was. Yet she remained an earthbound creature, fulfilling needs and wants he knew never existed, not until the prospect of their marriage became reality.

The thought of soon becoming her husband, of chastely expressing their love before God and everyone in their small parish church, caused him to return from the near abandonment of propriety. Elsie could feel his passion waning slightly, but she was unwilling to lose contact with his lips completely. With one hand at her neck, and the other fixed firmly on her waist, Charles helped to slow their racing hearts with soft but longing kisses.

As their pace diminished, it was clear Elsie and Charles were decidedly off-kilter. Emotions of desire and worshipfulness alternated and combined until they were nearly indistinguishable. They simmered for a few moments.

That is, until Elsie locked on his lower lip, sucking and nibbling with considerable force. The moaning, fervent response she received revealed a passionate Charles Carson – one she was astonished to learn was completely new to her. He had pulled back a moment before returning her kiss with abandon. His urgent gaze was filled with a wildfire, fanning the flames deep inside Elsie Hughes. She was ablaze with passion.

But his overwhelming presence – insistent, powerful, and dizzying – was fleeting.

"My darling," he gasped while forcefully resting his forehead on hers as he recovered. He raised his trembling hand, which had been clutching her waist possessively, to cradle her head with his thumb resting on her cheek.

"Do you…," Elsie faltered as her whole body hummed with the coursing of blood through her veins. She was usually so self-assured, but this was completely new territory for her. No one had ever dislodged her from any sense of propriety in this manner, not even Joe Burns. She swallowed before asking, "Do you want us to…"

"Not quite yet," he responded before pulling away to look in her eyes. His own were now clouded with conflicted emotions – the receding of desire and the creeping sense of alarm at how quickly and easily it was to lose control with her as they were completely alone. "I could never…"

"I know," she assured him as he took a few depths. "I know, and I love you because of your" – she couldn't help but smile – "properness." It was with no small amount of irony that she acknowledged that the most proper man she had ever known had brought her so stunningly close to the edge of propriety.

"It will be different, soon," he alluded vaguely as he briefly directed his eyes upwards towards what could be their bedroom before focusing on the sink to his left.

As she softly responded, he couldn't help but finding solace in her kind blue eyes. "Different, perhaps frightening and exciting at first," she acknowledged with an amount of modesty. Yet she was steadfast in the vow that followed, a mere prelude to their wedding day, "But we'll figure it out – together."

After a moment, he nodded with a soft smile as he moved his hand to reverently and gently trace the juncture of her collarbones.

"And in this house," she finally concluded.

"So you like it, then," he asked as his cheeks tugged his smile into a grin.

"After _this_," she indicated with a pointed look at their proximity on the kitchen counter top, "I would never be able to set foot in this house as a mere visitor. I would blush at the thought of helping someone arrange a tea tray for an afternoon visit if it was _their_ kitchen and not _ours_."

He couldn't help feeling uncomfortable at the thought, but her joyful voice and laughter chased away his embarrassment temporarily. It was yet another way in which she brought security and happiness to his life.

As their working relationship slowly turned towards one of mutual respect and fathomless adoration, Elsie Hughes continued to find ways that allowed Charles Carson to embark on a path of self and mutual discovery. Her love and passion, and needling, had provoked corresponding emotions within him, in addition to fleeting moments of bewilderment.

But her offered hand at the beach instilled courage to acknowledge the pangs of longing in his heart were not for a distant memory, but for her alone. And her lilting voice and mere appearance of belonging in this cottage led them to this moment, in which joy and honesty bookended untold moments of heated passion. Only their wedding remained to usher in the culmination of their entropy – towards basking in heat and light as they transitioned into retirement.

At that thought, Charles Carson retrieved his pocket watch from his waistcoat pocket to determine how much time they had before dinner services began. Though their time secreted away was soon coming to a close, all thoughts of work and their successors – Mr. Molesley and Mrs. Bute – fell away from their minds as they savored each other once again.

* * *

Did I make up for my evilness?

As always, your thoughts, follows, favorites, likes, reblogs, PM's, and fan mails are appreciated more than I could possibly articulate.

P.S. In some time zones, we're already into September! How glad I am for it to *finally* be here. I can't wait to share thoughts with you all as Series 5 gets underway!


	22. Preparations, part 1

Two weeks had passed, and slowly but surely, the cottage was being readied for its new occupants. The plumbing upgrades had taken over the latter part of the previous week, providing a good trial run for the improvements that would consume Downton Abbey at the start of the upcoming year. Mr. Branson and Mr. Carson had overseen the work, identifying how things should look and operate at each stage of the job.

Mrs. Hughes had worked with Lady Grantham to select furniture pieces from the attics. A few well-worn but still respectable pieces were selected and moved to their cottage. What remained were the many knickknacks from both of their offices. They would soon be readied for transport.

As time marched closer to their wedding day, Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes encountered small, deliberate acts of kindness to an almost embarrassing degree. Daisy kept a steady stream of Mr. Carson's confectioneries in supply even as she worked on their wedding cake; Mrs. Patmore always seemed to know when to drop into Mr. Carson's pantry or Mrs. Hughes's sitting room with a cup of tea prepared in their preferred manners; and gifts of embroidered linens of varying shapes and sizes appeared on every flat surface of the housekeeper's sitting room. They too would soon be brought over to the cottage.

In the meantime, training continued in earnest for Mr. Molesley and Mrs. Bute. Though both were up to the task and becoming well-versed in the tireless art of acting as butler and housekeeper for a large house and still large cadre of accompanying staff, there were more secrets of the trade to be conveyed. As their knowledge increased to the point of passing supervised tests with flying colors, Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes grew more content to let their successors conduct themselves independently for a lunch, or a tea, or an afternoon in preparation for dinner.

These small but important tests provided Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes an opportunity to make sure the basics would be in place in their cottage by the time their wedding day finally arrived in just over a week's time.

This afternoon, the pair was joined by Anna in preparing the cottage.

* * *

Mrs. Hughes had felt some guilt in recommending Mrs. Bute as her replacement. That feeling resurfaced as, from the corner of her eye, she observed Anna capably lining cabinets and drawers with paper all over the downstairs of the cottage Mrs. Hughes would soon share with Mr. Carson. Before Lady Mary's marriage, Mrs. Hughes had always considered Anna to be a possible successor in the back of her mind. Her honesty, capability, and quiet inner-strength would have served her well as housekeeper. But life had altered Anna, for better and for worse.

After the dual announcements of marriage and retirement, Mrs. Hughes had broached the topic of Anna returning to her roots as a woman running the household. But Anna wouldn't accept it as a possibility, citing that she would rather devote herself to Lady Mary. What Anna left unsaid, Mrs. Hughes could identify by the slightly worried look the lady's maid wore, was her desire to not upset the fragile dynamic between Mr. Bates and herself. They were still finding a way to overcome the many setbacks in their lives. Mrs. Hughes often wondered if Anna and John were thinking of departing service. But that question was for another day.

"How do you think Mrs. Bute is getting on?"

Ever pragmatic, Anna responded positively. "I've always liked her. She was always very capable and very kind during the Seasons," she answered before securing paper in a faraway corner of a cabinet. "She never seemed too angered or incapable of doing things in the way Mr. Carson insisted they be completed. They were all improvements you had integrated here over the years, and it paid off." Both smiled at the regard Mr. Carson showed for Elsie Hughes, even when she was hours away from him. "I think Mrs. Bute is adjusting admirably."

"And Mr. Molesley? I imagine the staff has something to say about his promotion."

"I think they are more shocked that the pair of you are really stepping down than at Mr. Molesley taking the helm. I'm rather impressed actually, but I gather Miss Baxter's support has something to do with that," Anna concluded with a knowing look at her superior, friend, and practical mother.

Her look was returned in spades, both well aware of something quiet and sweet brewing between the under-butler and Lady Grantham's maid.

Before they could continue the discussion, they both startled at the successive cacophonies of loud crashes and a Yorkshire-accented bark from upstairs.

"What in God's name…," Mrs. Hughes exclaimed with a squeak before quickly moving to the stairs.

By the time she rushed up to the landing, she was greeted with a sheepish Charles Carson standing in the doorway of the spare bedroom. She didn't even need to ask – her wide eyes and raised eyebrows were enough of a demand upon the butler.

"Let's just leave it at this – I moved the dresser away from the window while hanging the curtains," he admitted with a shrug. His irrepressible curl of hair was loose and Mrs. Hughes could envision a very mischievous five year-old Charlie Carson. "And the chair."

She could only shake her head before looking over his shoulder. It was clear he had affixed the curtains she had asked him to hang, but did so without the assistance of a ladder. Her imposing butler had attempted to take care of it by relying on his natural height. But it apparently came at a price. Elsie Hughes couldn't help but ask with shining, mischievous eyes, "And were these moves done by choice or was it a side effect of inertia?"

Well aware of a more than amused Anna standing at the bottom of the stairs, Charles Carson only narrowed his eyes at his betrothed. Before he could summon a suitable response given their current company, there was a knock on the front door.

"Shall I," the lady's maid asked the pair upstairs. Mrs. Hughes responded affirmatively before turning back to a still disheveled Charles Carson.

Mr. Carson, in the meantime, readjusted his tie before tugging down on his waistcoat. He was still slightly off-balance, albeit emotionally, and Mrs. Hughes couldn't repress her smile at the achingly familiar gesture he used to calm himself. To ensure the proper façade of the butler returned, Mrs. Hughes set to work on putting his hair back in place. Having nearly dislodged that same lock of hair on several occasions, she was becoming more adept at reaffixing it.

His shy smile was met with a knowing, amused smirk before their eyes widened at the sound of their visitor's voices.

By the time they reached the bottom of the stairs, Mr. Carson was fully transformed into his normal self. "To what do we owe the pleasure, my lady, Mr. Branson," he asked formally but warmly.

"We were returning from Ripon and I wanted to see how you were getting on, Carson, Mrs. Hughes. I hope you don't mind," Lady Mary remarked before nodding at Anna.

"Of course not, Lady Mary. And with the aid of our trusty helper," Mrs. Hughes remarked as she smiled at the lady's maid, "we couldn't be better." It was true – despite the stress of transitioning into living life somewhat outside the grand house, Mrs. Hughes was lit with serene joy. Tom Branson had spotted that immediately upon seeing her this afternoon.

Standing closer to the staircase that Lady Mary, he had watched the butler and housekeeper descend the stairs. Struck by the vision of them moving companionably about the cottage, Tom offered, "You look at home, Mrs. Hughes," he offered with a kind smile before cautiously glancing at Mr. Carson. Though their relationship had improved considerably, it was still not on the same level as Mrs. Hughes. Nothing could be, as she served as a constant in his life that no one could truly fathom.

But Tom was pleasantly surprised to hear Mr. Carson respond, "She does indeed, Mr. Branson." The butler couldn't help but add with a mildly reproachful voice and look, "Thank you for your not-so-subtle hint that you considered this the most suitable cottage of those available."

His hands behind his back, Tom shuffled a bit before responding, "Mrs. Patmore merely wanted to ensure you had a pleasant afternoon, Mr. Carson. I wanted to ensure you both had a pleasant retirement."

His earnest reply flummoxed the butler, but made him humbled, as well.

"And we thank you for that, Mr. Branson. Don't we, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes asked of the butler. Though he didn't voice his thanks, his slight, but reverent bow was enough for Mr. Branson. Mrs. Hughes bit down on her lip and look to her clasped hands at her waist.

Uncomfortable with the display, though equally pleased the butler and housekeeper looked quite happy, Lady Mary finally chimed in. "We can't stay long, unfortunately," she reminded, "Granny is coming to dinner."

"I should be going then," Anna added as she went to gather her things in the kitchen.

"I thought I might walk back to the house with Carson, if you don't mind, Mrs. Hughes."

Though she was not surprised at Lady Mary seeking out Mr. Carson for advice, probably, her single-mindedness did manage to throw the housekeeper off at times. But she didn't let the young woman faze her completely. "Not at all, my lady. I would like to see how Mrs. Bute is getting on this afternoon before the dressing gong is rung."

"I would be happy to drive you and Anna the rest of the way," Tom offered. As everything was settled, Mrs. Hughes left their sitting room in search of her coat and hat.

Mr. Carson followed her to the entryway, helping her in his professional manner. Though he managed not to touch Mrs. Hughes as she slipped into her coat, the small smile he offered as she turned to face him made her tingle.

She could tell exactly what he was thinking.

"Soon," she mouthed in acknowledgment. They would see each other off from their small entry hall – to the Abbey, to the village – in a matter of days. Their cottage was feeling more and more like home.

His smile grew wider before their guests made for the front door. But both recovered slightly before Mr. Branson and Anna filed out to the waiting car.

As the door shut, Mr. Carson returned to the sitting room and asked with a slight bow and a rumbling voice, "How can I help, my lady?"

He received a winning smile in response.

* * *

In the interest of brevity, I split this chapter into parts. Thank you to Peekaboochelsie, ChelsieFan, Spokethewind, Longlivequeenvic, Olehistorian, and Brenna-Louise for your suggestions! The next part should be posted shortly. The final chapter(!) will follow on either Sunday or Monday.


	23. Preparations, part 2

Dear readers, please make sure you read part 1 as I uploaded two chapters today. Enjoy!

* * *

_The same day._

Another evening, another family dinner had come to a close. And it was another evening that Charles Carson found his betrothed before the fireplace in her sitting room. He loved to watch her there, taking in her fine form and beautiful face simultaneously with the aid of the mirror above the mantle. He made a mental note to ensure a mirror would be installed over the mantle in the cottage.

Spying him in the open doorway, Elsie Hughes awarded him a warm smile in the honey-colored light of her pantry. It didn't take him long to secure the door and take her hand in one with a small glass of sherry in the other in front of her fireplace. She found tranquility in his look of contentment, and she found warmth and softness on her temple as he closed his eyes to kiss her there before inhaling deeply. Even in this blissful state, she could tell something was on his mind.

She prompted him with a gentle, low voice. "Is there something I should know?"

As her voice dipped on the final vowel of her question, her lilt washed over him deliciously. It felt like the inviting waters of a warm bath - that delightful feeling of the water sluicing over his cold, tired limbs. "We've had another wedding gift," he began, trying to forget the large bathtub waiting for them in their cottage.

The family had been pleased with the seamless transition taking place between old and new butler and housekeeper, apparently. Although Lady Mary refused to divulge how the exact discussion and decision came about, a simple fact remained. "To thank us, the family has given us a week to settle into married life before we are expected back at here. Then we can begin our adjusted schedule as consultants to Mr. Molesley and Mrs. Bute."

Elsie was humbled by the family's generosity. But she was floored by Charles' next remark. "We don't have to spend the entire time here, perhaps just our wedding day and a few days before we are required to return. That is, if you would like to…" he started before faltering. Though he thought on the prospects of a holiday with her all afternoon, he was still a bit taken aback at the reality of it – leisure, and time alone with her.

She went straight to the heart of the matter with a raised brow. "Have a honeymoon?"

"Well yes," he said bashfully, but excitedly. Something else was going on inside that mind of his. "Even just a few days allows us several options. I do regret it, but I did think of a few suitable locations during the family's dinner." Charles Carson was not one to lose concentration when the butler was supposed to be completely attuned to the needs of the family at the most formal event of the day. Elsie Hughes couldn't help smiling, almost gleeful at the thought of him daydreaming while the family droned on about an inconsequential topic.

She loved seeing him so animated, but it did bring her pause. The last time he came up with an excursion on his own, it wasn't exactly promising. She could only think of his London pantry as he poured excitedly over a handbill for a science museum. "And did anything jump out at you," she asked before holding her breath.

"Yes as a matter of fact something did," he replied in an almost professional tone. "The sea served us well," he reminded. She exhaled carefully at that. He was certainly correct, and the prospect of walking along the sea, even in autumn, was rather appealing.

"You're not thinking of Brighton, are you? That's awfully far," she concluded with a hint of despair. Though she would have welcomed a return trip to the where they both grew courageous as they waded into the sea together, the commute would have been lengthy from Downton. She didn't want to spend entire days in transit.

"It is, unfortunately, which is why I thought we might venture somewhere closer. We could go someplace we know, though have never visited together." His cryptic language was lost on her.

She looked at him quizzically, worried and intrigued by the twinkle in his eye. He finally offered another clue. "The family had quite the delectable fish course this evening," he prompted with a raised eyebrow.

Her eyes darted about a bit as she calculated. He loved watching them dance about before a realization dawned on her face. "Whitby," she concluded, thinking of the crates she passed on her way to the backdoor earlier today and the bills of lading organized in a stack on her desk. It was a small enough village by the seaside, with church ruins, a place in Anglo-Saxon literary history, and beautiful beaches. And, it would only require a manageable train ride through, depending on the route, luscious moors and along pristine coastline to get there. "It's perfect," she concluded with a sigh of relief and delight as she observed him in the mirror.

He caught her sigh immediately. "You were worried that I would come up with something awful, weren't you," he accused with a sudden drawing back of his chin.

Her opened mouth and widened eyes gave her away immediately. Fortunately, his stern façade and shaking head couldn't hide his twinkling eyes and ghost of a smirk. Of course she had worried, wondering what equivalent of the Crystal Palace he could possibly come up within a few hours from Downton.

She was relieved again when his stern façade was shaken away by his chuckling. As he reached for her shoulder in his mirth, she gasped at the stunning feeling of déjà vu. Both of them stood silently as each recalled the moment in which their entropy began to increase inexorably as they stood gazing at each other in the mirror, yet again.

Following the evolution of Charles Carson, from butler to her dearest friend to his own master, it was no wonder that his hand dropped slowly from her shoulder to pull her closely to him. His hand rested at her waist while they both stood marveling at their progress. Even more so, they increasingly wondered – with worry and impatience – on the ground they would soon cover at the beginning of next week.

As the moments ticked by, they were both acutely aware of what would likely happen upon the conclusion of their walk from the house to their cottage following their wedding breakfast. Though they managed to not revisit the level of passion uncovered when they first explored their cottage, the memory and the prelude that afternoon posed never managed to stray far from the minds of the butler and housekeeper. Left alone again on this quiet evening, Mrs. Hughes tried to introduce a bit of levity to prevent any dwelling on the afternoon and evening following their wedding.

"You did all that thinking at dinner? Thank goodness Mr. Molesley was overseeing the footmen, then," she joked.

He fired back an unimpressed look of raised eyebrows punctuated by the dip of his chin. It did nothing to simmer her growing desire. Fortunately, he released his hold on her waist before moving to refill her empty glass. She heard his rumbling, exhausted sigh while observing him retreat to the decanter on the side table. He was leaning rather informally as he did.

"You look tired, love," she prompted as concern laced her voice. She almost hoped her observation would lead to him quickly heading up to the men's quarters, separated from her by lock and key.

After decades of telling young, energetic maids to not even think of marriage to the first man in the village that caught their eye, of highlighting the pratfalls of becoming too familiar with male servants and guests, Mrs. Hughes was in a quandary. The feelings she felt for this man were genuine, overwhelming, and about to be completely ratified before God and community. But that moment was days away. It did nothing to save her from her wants and desires now.

"If you don't mind, I'll just rest for a moment on the settee," Charles announced as he returned her glass to her waiting hand. But she wasn't interested in the sherry and set it absentmindedly on the mantle.

After he settled into her comfy chair, Charles looked contemplative. "Our time off wasn't the only thing Lady Mary wanted to discuss on our walk."

"Oh," she questioned neutrally. While she welcomed a distraction from her feelings, and had grown incrementally fond of the Crawley daughter, Elsie Hughes was frankly frustrated. A prolonged discussion over Lady Mary was not going serve as her panacea this evening, nor any other.

"Well, discuss may be too generous. Lady Mary didn't say it in so many words, but she's obviously concerned over whether Lord Grantham would be willing to relinquish more control to the next generation." He sighed before taking another sip of his sherry.

She looked at him, concerned slightly, unable to stop from chewing her lip as he went on. "If you don't mind, my love," she asked in a low, lingering tone. "I'd rather not talk about Lady Mary anymore,"

He sighed in exasperation, unsurprised by her impatience with addressing Lady Mary's very real concerns. After turning to set his drink on the china cabinet to prepare himself for another comment about the 'uppity minx,' he rested his head against the back of the chair. Closing his eyes, he gathered himself before speaking again.

"I know we don't always see eye-to…"

He couldn't finish the sentence because a fiery Scottish housekeeper had stealthily captured his lips. She wasn't interested in speaking at all, apparently, choosing instead to occupy his lips with a searing kiss. She was careful to nibble, but not too much. She was careful to steady her bent form using the broad expanse of his broad shoulders. But she was not careful to stop, not until they were decidedly breathless.

His eyes were hazy with desire as she pulled away, both of them inhaling deeply with exhilaration. To rest momentarily, Elsie perched herself on the arm of the settee while placing her left hand on the center of his chest. She could feel his strong heartbeat, echoing her own that beat strongly against her skin and corset. Though sitting on his lap held great appeal, the temptation was too much given the state of desire that sought to conquer her. Even in her own haze, Elsie was resigned to acknowledge they could wait a few days longer for her to settle on his lap and wherever else she fancied.

"Are you going to do that every time I say something you would rather not hear," he finally asked.

She feigned deep thought for a moment, watching him gaze at her out of the corner of her eye. He looked almost gleeful at the prospect of her kissing him to silence. "No, Mr. Carson. I shall reserve such measures for moments of surprise."

He looked crestfallen for a moment before adding, "Then I shall speak my mind about whatever I please and lie in wait."

"I wouldn't know you if you acted any different, my love," she joked before her wincing slightly.

Observing her uncomfortably rest on the arm of her settee, he helped her to stand. He could only imagine the discomfort her corset caused her on a daily basis, and he was thrilled and daunted at the prospect of helping her out of it in the coming days.

With a brief kiss, but without a word, they both set about their last tasks for the night. He momentarily left her sitting room to secure the silver pantry doors and check for anything out of the ordinary. The only thing that was different about the evening was the great awareness of their professional lives tapering off in just a few days. Even as the future burned bright in their imaginations, the reality of leaving the life that led them ever closer together gave them momentary pause.

When he returned to her office, she observed his slow gait, pursed lips, and searching eyes. Elsie could identify a myriad of emotions washing over him and wondered what would dominate his thoughts before he finally drifted off to sleep. She drew a deep breath as she quickly turned back to her desk to close the ledger that dominated her small workspace and turn off her desk lamp.

When she turned around to proceed towards her side table, she found some relief in his sanguine smile as he gazed at her once more. Instead of worries over Downton – of their waning professional lives – he had gained optimism at the prospect of their future. It would usher in his dreams along with hers.

"Soon," she breathed, as a promise and a reminder to Charles, as well as herself. Soon they would no longer be spending their evenings pouring over books and counting bottles of wine, waiting for the other staff to head up for the night. Soon they would have a comfy sofa to aid in embracing each other before a fire instead of awkwardly arranging themselves on a single chair. Soon they would share a bed – for sleep, and soft embraces, and much more.

Charles met her at the side table, moving to lovingly frame and caress her face lit by the small lamps dotting her room. It was in this light that he finally acknowledged she was more than a colleague and found the confidence to share his regard for her. It was at this time of evening, inviting and alluring on its own, that he surrendered to curiosity and gazed upon her, wondering on the texture of her hair, the softness of her skin and lips. It was in the stillness at the end of the day that they shared quiet confidences, becoming more intertwined in each other's lives until he finally summoned the courage to finally ask for her steadying hand.

It was in this light that they would lead each other up the stairs in their cottage on their first night as man and wife.

Finally, he whispered in agreement, "Soon."

* * *

And soon, dear readers, we will be at an end. I can't thank you enough for being on this journey with me. I'd love to know your thoughts before I finish the edits on the very last chapter. It should be published before the end of the weekend (Monday latest).

A/N1: In the opening montage of S2, Ep 1, you can clearly see "Whitby Fish Co." crates stacked outside to the left of the backdoor.

A/N2: As some of you probably know, Whitby is closely associated with the novel _Dracula._ While Stoker published the book in 1897, its popularity wasn't that prolific by the early/mid 1920's. If I recall correctly, only after it was adapted for film (1922 and 1931) did the novel begin to gain popularity. Accordingly, I doubt the Grantham library contained a copy of it (but maybe Edith had a copy). Nor do I believe Mrs. Hughes or Mr. Carson would have acquired it, let alone read it, at this point in their lives. Consequently, I doubt the novel affected Mr. Carson's suggestion for Whitby to serve as their honeymoon locale.

A/N3: If you want a looksies at Whitby and nearby Runswick Bay, then I suggest heading to about 45 minutes into the film _Possession._ I had completely forgotten it had a Whitby connection until I realized it used to be a center for Jet stone mining and mourning jewelry. And, also, just read the novel/watch the film. I doubt you'll regret reading about/looking upon the quartet that moves that story along.


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